owns  irac 


THE   BARTLETT  MYSTERY 


.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGELES 


By  LOUIS   TRACY 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  MORNING 

THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  KANSAS 

THE  WHEEL  0'  FORTUNE 

A  SON  OF  THE  IMMORTALS 

CYNTHIA'S  CHAUFFEUR 

THE  MESSAGE 

THE  STOWAWAY 

THE  PILLAR  OF  LIGHT 

THE  SILENT  BARRIER 

THE  "  MIND  THE  PAINT  "  GIRL 

ONE  WONDERFUL  NIGHT 

THE  TERMS  OF  SURRENDER 

FLOWER  OF  THE  GORSE 

THE  RED  YEAR 

THE  GREAT  MOGUL 

MIRABEL'S  ISLAND 

THE  DAY  OF  WRATH 

HIS  UNKNOWN  WIFE 

THE  POSTMASTER'S  DAUGHTER 

THE  REVELLERS 

DIANA  OF  THE  MOORLAND 

NUMBER  SEVENTEEN 

THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 


THE 

BARTLETT  MYSTERY 


BY 

LOUIS   TRACY, 

Author  of 

"  The  Wings  of  the  Morning,"  "  Number  Seventeen," 
etc.,  etc. 


NEW   YORK 

EDWARD  J.  CLODE 


COPYRIGHT,  1919,  BT 
EDWARD    J.    CLODE 


All  riglitb  reserved 


PRINTED  TK  THE  UNITED  STATES  OP  AMERICA 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  A  GATHERING  AT  A  CLUB      .       .  1 

II.  A  DARING  CRIME    ....  12 

III.  WINIFRED  BARTLETT  HEARS  SOME- 

THING     24 

IV.  FURTHER  SURPRISES      ...  39 
V.    PERSECUTORS 54 

VI.  BROTHER  RALPH     ....  67 

VII.  STILL  MERE  MYSTERY  ...  81 

VIII.  THE  DREAM  FACE  ....  92 

IX.    THE  FLIGHT 102 

X.  CARSHAW  TAKES  UP  THE  CHASE  115 

XI.  THE  Two  CARS      ....  128 

XII.  THE  PURSUIT  .       .       .       .       .  140 

XIII.  THE  NEW  LINK      ....  150 

XIV.  A  SUBTLE  ATTACK  ....  162 
XV.     THE  VISITOR 173 

XVI.  WINIFRED  DRIFTS  ....  181 

XVII.  ALL  ROADS  LEAD  TO  EAST  ORANGE  191 

XVIII.    THE  CRASH 201 

XIX.  CLANCY  EXPLAINS  ....  214 

XX.    IN  THE  TOILS 225 

XXI.  MOTHER  AND  SON  ....  235 

XXII.  THE  HUNT  245 


2133236 


vi  CONTENTS 

XXIII.  "HE   WHO   FIGHTS   AND  RUNS 

AWAY—"      .       ,.  .  ...  .  257 

XXIV.  IN  FULL  GEY  .       ,.  ,  ,  .  269 
XXV.  FLANK  ATTACKS     .  .  .  .  280 

XXVT.  THE  BITER  BIT      .  ,.-  ,.,  ,.  293 

XXVII.  THE  SETTLEMENT  .  304 


THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

CHAPTER  I 

A  GATHERING  AT  A  CLUB 

THAT  story  of  love  and  crime  which  fig- 
ures in  the  records  of  the  New  York 
Detective  Bureau  as  "The  Yacht  Mys- 
tery" has  little  to  do  with  yachts  and  is  no 
longer  a  mystery.  It  is  concerned  far  more 
intimately  with  the  .troubles  and  trials  of 
pretty  Winifred  Bartlett  than  with  the  vaga- 
ries of  the  restless  sea ;  the  alert,  well-groomed 
figure  of  Winifred's  true  lover,  Rex  Carshaw, 
fills  its  pages  to  the  almost  total  exclusion  of 
the  portly  millionaire  who  owned  the  Sans 
Souci.  Yet,  such  is  the  singular  dominance 
exercised  by  the  trivial  things  of  life  over  the 
truly  important  ones,  some  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  people  in  the  great  city  on  the  three 
rivers  will  recall  many  episodes  of  the  nine 
days'  wonder  known  to  them  as  "The  Yacht 
Mystery"  though  they  may  never  have  heard 
of  either  Winifred  or  Rex. 
It  began  simply,  as  all  major  events  do  begin, 
1 


2  THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

and,  of  course,  at  the  outset,  neither, of  these 
two  young  people  seemed  to  have  the  remotest 
connection  with  it. 

On  the  evening  of  October  5,  1913 — that  is 
the  date  when  the  first  entry  appears  in  the 
diary  of  Mr.  James  Steingall,  chief  of  the 
Bureau — the  stream  of  traffic  in  Fifth  Avenue 
was  interrupted  to  an  unusual  degree  at  a 
corner  near  Forty-second  Street.  The  home- 
ward-bound throng  going  up-town  and  the 
equally  dense  crowd  coming  down-town  to 
restaurants  and  theater-land  merely  chafed  at 
a  delay  which  they  did  not  understand,  but  the 
traffic  policeman  knew  exactly  what  was  going 
on,  and  kept  his  head  and  his  temper. 

A  few  doors  down  the  north  side  of  the  cross 
street  a  famous  club  was  ablaze  with  lights. 
Especially  did  three  great  windows  on  the 
first  floor  send  forth  hospitable  beams,  for  the 
spacious  room  within  was  the  scene  of  an  amus- 
ing revel.  Mr.  William  Pierpont  Van  Hofen, 
ex-commodore  of  the  New  York  Yacht  Club, 
owner  of  the  Sans  Souci,  and  multi-millionaire, 
had  just  astonished  his  friends  by  one  of  the 
eccentric  jests  for  which  he  was  famous. 

The  Sans  Souci,  notable  the  world  over  for 
its  size,  speed,  and  fittings,  was  going  out  of 
commission  for  the  winter.  Van  Hofen  had 
marked  the  occasion  by  widespread  invitations 
to  a  dinner  at  his  club,  "to  be  followed  by  a 


'A  GATHERING  AT  A  CLUB  3 

surprise  party,"  and  the 'nature  of  the  "sur- 
prise" was  becoming  known.  Each  lady  had 
drawn  by  lot  the  name  of  her  dinner  partner, 
and  each  couple  was  then  presented  with  a 
sealed  envelope  containing  tickets  for  one  or 
other  of  the  many  theaters  in  New  York.  Thus, 
not  only  were  husbands,  wives,  eligible  bache- 
lors, and  smart  debutantes  inextricably  mixed 
up,  but  none  knew  whither  the  oddly  assorted 
pairs  were  bound,  since  the  envelopes  were  not 
to  be  opened  until  the  meal  reached  the  coffee 
and  cigarette  stage. 

There  existed,  too,  a  secret  within  a  secret. 
Seven  men  were  bidden  privately  to  come  on 
board  the  Sans  Souci,  moored  in  the  Hudson 
off  the  Eighty-sixth  Street  landing-stage, 
and  there  enjoy  a  quiet  session  of  auction 
bridge. 

""We'll  duck  before  the  trouble  gets  fairly 
started,"  explained  Van  Hofen  to  his  cronies. 
"You'll  see  how  the  bunch  is  sorted  out  at 
dinner,  but  the  tangle  then  will  be  just  one  cent 
in  the  dollar  to  the  pandemonium  when  they 
find  out  where  they're  going." 

Of  course,  everybody  was  acquainted  with 
everybody  else,  or  the  joke  might  have  been 
in  bad  taste.  Moreover,  as  the  gathering  was 
confined  exclusively  to  the  elect  of  New  York 
society,  the  host  had  notified  the  Detective 
Bureau,  and  requested  the  presence  of  one  of 


'4  THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

their  best  men  outside  the  club  shortly  before 
eight  o'clock.  None  realized  better  than  he 
that  where  the  carcass  is  there  the  vultures 
gather,  and  he  wanted  no  untoward  incident  to 
happen  during  the  confusion  which  must  attend 
the  departure  of  so  many  richly  bejeweled 
ladies  accompanied  by  unexpected  cavaliers. 

Thus  it  befell  that  Detective-Inspector 
Clancy  was  detailed  for  the  job.  Steingall 
and  he  were  the  " inseparables"  of  the  Bureau, 
yet  no  two  members  of  a  marvelously  efficient 
service  were  more  unlike,  physically  and  men- 
tally. Steingall  was  big,  blond,  muscular,  a 
genial  giant  whose  qualities  rendered  him 
almost  popular  among  the  very  criminals  he 
hunted,  whereas  those  same  desperadoes  feared 
the  diminutive  Clancy,  the  little,  slight,  dark- 
haired  sleuth  of  French-Irish  descent.  He, 
they  were  aware  instinctively,  read  their  very 
souls  before  Steingall 's  huge  paw  clutched  their 
quaking  bodies. 

Idle  chance  alone  decided  that  Clancy  should 
undertake  the  half -hour's  vigil  at  the  up-town 
club  that  evening.  All  unknowing,  he  became 
thereby  the  controlling  influence  in  many  lives. 

At  eight  o'clock  an  elderly  man  emerged 
from  the  building  and  edged  his  way  through 
the  cheery,  laughing  people  already  grouped 
about  the  doorway  and  awaiting  automobiles. 
Mr.  William  Meiklejohn  might  have  been 


'A  GATHERING  AT  A  CLUB  5 

branded  with  the  word  "Senator,"  so  typical 
was  he  of  the  upper  house  at  Washington.  The 
very  cut  of  his  clothes,  the  style  of  his  shoes, 
the  glossiness  of  his  hat,  even  the  wide  expanse 
of  pearl-studded  white  linen  marked  him  as  a 
person  of  consequence. 

A  uniformed  policeman,  striving  to  keep  the 
pavement  clear  of  loiterers,  recognized  and 
saluted  him.  The  salute  was  returned,  though 
its  recipient's  face  seemed  to  be  gloomy,  pre- 
occupied, almost  disturbed.  Therefore  he  did 
not  notice  a  gaunt,  angular-jawed  woman — one 
whose  carriage  and  attire  suggested  better 
days  long  since  passed — who  had  been  peering 
eagerly  at  the  revellers  pouring  out  of  the  club, 
and  now  stepped  forward  impetuously  as  if  to 
intercept  him. 

She  failed.  The  policeman  barred  her  prog- 
ress quietly  but  effectually,  and  the  woman,  if 
bent  on  achieving  her  purpose,  must  have  either 
called  after  the  absorbed  Meiklejohn  or  entered 
into  a  heated  altercation  with  the  policeman 
when  accident  came  to  her  aid. 

Mrs.  Eonald  Tower,  strikingly  handsome, 
richly  gowned  and  cloaked,  with  an  elaborate 
coiffure  that  outvied  nature's  best  efforts,  was 
crossing  the  pavement  to  enter  a  waiting  car 
when  she  stopped  and  drew  her  hand  from  her 
escort's  arm. 

"Senator  Meiklejohn!"  she  cried. 


6  THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

The  elderly  man  halted.  He  doffed  his  hat 
with  a  flourish. 

"Ah,  Helen,"  he  said  smilingly.  " Whither 
bound?" 

"To  see  Belasco's  latest.  Isn't  that  lucky? 
The  very  thing  I  wanted.  Poor  Ronald!  .  I 
don't  know  what  has  become  of  him,  or  into 
what  net  he  may  have  fallen." 

The  Senator  beamed.  He  knew  that  Ronald 
Tower  was  one  of  the  eight  bridge-players,  but 
was  pledged  to  secrecy. 

"I  only  hailed  you  to  jog  your  memory  about 
that  luncheon  to-morrow,"  went  on  Mrs.  Tower. 

"How  could  I  forget!"  he  retorted  gallantly. 
"Only  two  hours  ago  I  postponed  a  business 
appointment  on  account  of  it." 

"So  good  of  you,  Senator,"  and  Mrs.  Tower's 
smile  lent  a  tinge  of  sarcasm  to  the  words. 
"I'm  awfully  anxious  that  you  should  meet  Mr. 
Jacob.  I'm  deeply  interested,  you  know." 

Meiklejohn  glanced  rather  sharply  at  the 
lady's  companion,  who,  however,  was  merely 
a  vacuous  man  about  town.  It  struck  Clancy 
that  the  Senator  resented  this  incautious  using 
of  names.  The  shabby-genteel  woman,  hover- 
ing behind  the  policeman,  was  following  the 
scene  with  hawklike  eyes,  and  Clancy  kept  her, 
too,  under  close  observation. 

The  Senator  coughed,  and  lowered  his  voice. 

"I  shall  be  most  pleased  to  discuss  matters 


A  GATHERING  AT  A  CLUB  7 

with  him,"  he  said.  "It  will  be  a  pleasure  to 
render  him  a  service  if  you  ask  it." 

Mrs.  Tower  laughed  lightly.  "One  o'clock," 
she  said.  "Don't  be  late!  Come  along,  Mr. 
Forrest.  Your  car  is  blocking  the  way." 

Mr.  Meiklejohn  flourished  his  hat  again.  He 
turned  and  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the 
hard-featured  woman  who  had  been  waiting 
and  watching  for  this  very  opportunity.  She 
barred  his  further  progress — even  caught  his 
arm. 

Had  the  Senator  been  assaulted  by  the  blue- 
coated  guardian  of  law  and  order  he  could  not 
have  displayed  more  bewilderment. 

"You,  Kachel!"  he  gasped. 

The  policeman  was  about  to  intervene,  but  it 
was  the  Senator,  not  the  shabbily  dressed 
woman,  who  prevented  him. 

"It's  all  right,  officer,"  he  stammered 
vexedty.  "I  know  this  lady.  She  is  an  old 
friend." 

The  man  saluted  again  and  drew  aside. 
Clancy  moved  a  trifle  nearer.  No  one  would 
take  notice  of  such  an  insignificant  little  man. 
Though  he  had  his  back  to  this  strangely  as- 
sorted pair,  he  heard  nearly  every  syllable  they 
uttered. 

"He  is  here,"  snapped  the  woman  without 
other  preamble.  "You  must  see  him." 

"It  is  quite  impossible,"  was  the  answer, 


8  THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

and,  though  the  words  were  frigid  and  unyield- 
ing, Clancy  felt  certain  that  Senator  Meiklejohn 
had  to  exercise  an  iron  self-control  to  keep  a 
tremor  out  of  his  utterance. 

"You  dare  not  refuse,"  persisted  the  woman. 

The  Senator  glanced  around  in  a  scared  way. 
Clancy  thought  for  an  instant  that  he  meant  to 
dart  back  into  the  security  of  the  cluh.  After 
an  irresolute  pause,  however,  he  moved  some- 
what apart  from  the  crowd  of  sightseers.  The 
two  stood  together  on  the  curb,  and  clear  of  the 
flood  of  light  pouring  through  the  open  doors. 
Clancy  edged  after  them.  He  gathered  a  good 
deal,  not  all,  of  what  they  said,  as  both  voices 
were  harsh  and  tinged  with  excitement. 

"This  very  night,"  the  woman  was  saying. 
"Bring  at  least  five  hundred  dollars —  If 
the  police  ...  Says  he  will  confess  every- 
thing .  .  .  Do  you  get  me?  This  thing  can't 
wait." 

The  Senator  did  not  even  try  now  to  conceal 
his  agitation.  He  looked  at  the  gaping  mob, 
but  it  was  wholly  absorbed  in  the  stream  of 
fashionable  people  pouring  out  of  the  club, 
while  the  snorting  of  scores  of  automo- 
biles created  a  din  which  meant  comparative 
safety. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  muttered.  "I  understand. 
I'll  do  anything  in  reason.  I'll  give  you  the 
money,  and  you— — " 


rA  GATHERING  AT,  A  CLUB  9 

"No.  He  means  seeing  you.  You  need  not 
be  afraid.  He  says  you  are  going  to  Mr.  Van 
Hofen's  yacht  at  nine  o'clock— 

"Good  Lord!"  broke  in  Meiklejohn,  "how 
can  he  possibly  know  that?"  Again  he  peered 
at  the  press  of  onlookers.  A  dapper  little  man 
who  stood  near  was  raised  on  tiptoe  and  cran- 
ing his  neck  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  noted 
beauty  who  had  just  appeared. 

"Oh,  pull  yourself  together!"  and  there  was 
a  touch  of  scorn  in  the  woman's  manner  as  she 
reassured  this  powerfully  built  man.  "Isn't 
he  clever  and  fertile  in  device?  Haven't  the 
newspapers  announced  your  presence  on  the 
Sans  Souci?  And  who  will  stop  a  steward's 
tongue  from  wagging?  At  any  rate,  he  knows. 
He  will  be  on  the  Hudson  in  a  small  boat,  with 
one  other  man.  At  nine  o'clock  he  will  come 
close  to  the  landing-stage  at  Eighty-sixth 
Street.  There  is  a  lawn  north  of  the  clubhouse, 
he  says.  Walk  to  the  end  of  it  and  you  will 
find  him.  You  can  have  a  brief  talk.  Bring  the 
money  in  an  envelope." 

"On  the  lawn — at  nine!"  repeated  the  Sen- 
ator in  a  dazed  way. 

"Yes.  What  better  place  could  he  choose? 
You  see,  he  is  willing  to  play  fair  and  be  dis- 
creet. But,  quick !  I  must  have  your  answer. 
Time  is  passing.  Do  you  agree?" 

"What  is  the  alternative?" 


10          THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

11  Capture,  and  a  mad  rage.  Then  others  will 
share  in  his  downfall." 

"Very  well.  I'll  be  there.  I'll  not  fail  him, 
or  you." 

"He  says  it's  his  last  request.  He  has  some 
scheme— 

"Ah,  his  schemes!  If  only  I  could  hope  that 
this  will  be  the  end!" 

"That  is  his  promise." 

The  woman  dropped  the  conversation 
abruptly.  She  darted  through  the  line  of 
cars  and  made  off  in  the  direction  of  Sixth 
Avenue.  Senator  Meiklejohn  gazed  after  her 
dubiously,  but  her  tall  figure  was  soon  lost  in 
the  traffic.  Then,  with  bent  head,  and  evidently 
a  prey  to  harassing  thoughts,  he  crossed  Fifth 
Avenue. 

Clancy  sauntered  after  him,  and  saw  him 
enter  a  block  of  residential  flats  in  a  side  street. 
Then  the  detective  strolled  back  to  the  club. 

Most  of  Van  Hofen's  guests  had  gone.  The 
policeman  grinned  and  muttered  in  Clancy's 
ear: 

"The  Senator's  a  giddy  guy.  Two  of  'em  at 
wanst.  Mrs.  Tower's  a  good-looker,  but  I 
didn't  think  much  of  the  other  wan." 

Clancy  nodded.  His  black  and  beady  eyes 
had  just  clashed  with  those  of  a  notorious 
crook,  who  suddenly  remembered  an  urgent  ap- 
pointment elsewhere. 


A  GATHERING  AT  A  CLUB.         11 

Fifteen  minutes  later  Senator  Meiklejohn 
returned.  He  entered  the  club  without  being 
waylaid  a  second  time.  Clancy  consulted  his 
watch. 

4 'Keep  a  sharp  lookout  here,  Mac,"  he  said, 
sotto  voce.  "  While  I  was  away  just  now 
Broadway  Jim  showed  up.  He's  got  cold  feet, 
and  there'll  be  nothing  more  doing  to-night,  I 
think.  Anyhow,  I'm  going  up-town." 

In  Fifth  Avenue  he  boarded  a  Riverside 
Drive  bus.  The  weather  was  mild,  and  he 
mounted  to  the  roof. 

"Now,  who  in  the  world  will  Senator  Meikle- 
john  meet  on  the  landing-stage?"  he  mused. 
"Seems  to  me  the  chief  may  be  interested. 
Five  hundred  dollars,  too !  I  wonder !" 


CHAPTER  II 

A   DABING    CEIME 

IT  was  no  part  of  Detective  Clancy's  busi- 
ness to  pry  into  the  private  affairs  of  Senator 
Meiklejohn.  Senators  are  awkward  fish  to 
handle,  being  somewhat  similar  to  whales 
caught  in  nets  designed  to  capture  mackerel. 
But  the  Bureau  is  no  respecter  of  persons. 
Men  much  higher  up  in  politics  and  finance 
than  William  Meiklejohn  would  be  disagree- 
ably surprised  if  they  could  read  certain  de- 
tails entered  opposite  their  names  in  the  dos- 
siers kept  by  the  police  department.  Still,  it 
behooved  Clancy  to  tread  warily. 

As  it  happened,  he  was  just  the  man  for  this 
self-imposed  duty.  Two  Celtic  strains  mingled 
in  his  blood,  while  American  birth  and  train- 
ing had  not  only  quickened  his  intelligence  but 
imparted  a  quality  of  wide-eyed  shrewdness  to 
a  daring  initiative.  When  he  and  the  bluff 
Steingall  worked  together  the  malefactor  on 
whose  heels  they  pressed  had  a  woeful  time. 
As  one  blood-stained  rascal  put  it  in  a  bitter 
moment  before  the  electric  chair  claimed  him 

is 


rA  DARING  CRIME,  13 

for  the  expiation  of  his  last  and  worst  crime : 

''Them  two  guys  give  a  reg'lar  fellow  no 
chanst.  When  they're  trailin'  you  every  road 
leads  straight  to  Sing  Sing.  The  big  guy  has 
a  punch  like  Jess  Willard,  an'  the  lil  'un  a 
nose  like  a  Montana  wolf." 

It  was  Clancy's  nose  for  the  more  subtle 
elements  in  crime  which  brought  him  to  the 
small  chalet  on  the  private  pier  at  the  foot  of 
Eighty-sixth  Street  that  night.  He  could  not 
guess  what  game  he  might  flush,  but  he  was  * 
keen  as  a  bloodhound  in  the  chase. 

Meanwhile,  Senator  Meiklejohn  encountered 
Ronald  Tower  the  moment  he  re-entered  the 
palatial  club.  By  this  time  he  seemed  to  have 
regained  his  customary  air  of  geniality,  being 
one  of  those  rather  uncommon  men  whose  ap- 
parent characteristics  are  never  so  marked  as 
when  they  are  acting  a  part. 

"H'lo,  Ronnie, "  he  cried  affably,  "I  met 
Helen  as  she  left  for  the  theater.  She  has 
an  inquiring  mind,  but  I  headed  her  off.  By 
the  way,  will  you  be  at  this  luncheon  to- 
morrow?" 

"Not  I,"  laughed  Tower.  "I'm  barred. 
She  says  I  have  no  head  for  business,  and 
some  deep-laid  plan  for  filling  the  family 
coffers  is  in  hand." 

The  Senator  obviously  disliked  these  out- 
spoken references  to  money-making.  He 


14         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

squirmed,   but   smiled  as   though   Tower   had 
made  an  excellent  joke. 

"Try  and  get  the  ukase  lifted,"  he  urged. 
"I  want  you  to  be  there." 

"Nothing  doing,"  and  the  other  grinned. 
"Helen  says  I  resemble  you  in  everything  but 
brain  power,  Senator.  I'm  a  good-looker  as  a 
husband,  but  a  poor  mutt  in  Wall  Street." 

They  laughed  at  the  conceit.  The  two  men 
were  curiously  alike  in  face  and  figure,  though 
a  close  observer  like  Clancy  would  have 
classed  them  as  opposite  as  the  poles  in  char- 
acter and  temperament.  Meiklejohn's  features 
were  cast  in  the  stronger  mold.  They  showed 
lines  which  Ronald  Tower's  placid  existence 
would  never  produce.  The  Senator  was  suave, 
too.  He  seldom  pressed  a  point  to  the  limit. 

"Helen's  good  opinion  is  doubly  flattering," 
he  said.  "She  is  a  bright  woman,  and  knows 
how  to  command  her  friends." 

Tower  glanced  at  a  clock  in  the  hall. 

"Time  we  were  off,"  he  announced.  "Come 
with  me.  I'm  taking  Johnny  Bell,  I  think." 

"Sorry.  I  have  an  important  letter  to 
write.  But  I'll  join  before  the  crowd  cuts  in." 

The  Senator  hurried  up-stairs.  He  must 
take  the  journey  alone,  and  snatch  an  oppor- 
tunity to  attend  that  mysterious  rendezvous 
while  the  Sans  Souci's  gig  was  ferrying  some 
of  the  bridge-players  to  the  yacht. 


A  DARING  CRIME  15 

Owing  to  a  slight  misunderstanding  Tower 
missed  the  other  man,  and  traveled  alone  in 
his  car.  On  that  trivial  circumstance  hinged 
events  which  not  only  affected  many  lives  but 
disturbed  New  York  society  more  than  any 
other  incident  within  a  decade. 

Few  among  the  thousands  of  summer  prom- 
enaders  who  enjoy  the  magnificent  panorama  of 
the  North  River  from  the  wooded  heights  of 
the  Drive  know  of  the  pier  at  Eighty-sixth 
Street.  For  one  thing,  the  clubhouse  itself  is  an 
unpretentious  structure;  for  another,  the  nar- 
row and  winding  stairway  leading  down  the  side 
of  the  cliff  gives  no  indication  of  its  specific 
purpose.  Moreover,  a  light  foot-bridge  across 
the  tracks  is  hardly  noticeable  through  the 
screen  of  trees  and  shrubs  above,  and  the 
water-front  lies  yet  fifty  yards  farther  on. 

At  night  the  approach  is  not  well  lighted. 
In  fact,  no  portion  of  the  beautiful  and  pre- 
cipitous riparian  park  is  more  secluded  than 
the  short  stretch  between  the  landing-stage 
and  the  busy  thoroughfare  on  the  crest. 

That  evening,  as  has  been  seen,  Mr.  Van 
Hofen  was  taking  no  risks  for  himself  or  his 
guests.  A  patrolman  from  the  local  precinct 
was  stationed  at  the  iron-barred  gate  on  the 
landward  end  of  the  foot-bridge. 

Clancy,  on  descending  from  the  bus,  stood 
for  a  few  seconds  and  surveyed  the  scene.  The 


16         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

night  was  dark  and  the  sky  overcast,  but  the 
myriad  lights  on  the  New  Jersey  shore  were 
reflected  in  the  swift  current  of  the  Hudson. 
The  superb  Sans  Souci  was  easily  distinguish- 
able. All  her  ports  were  a-glow;  lamps  twin- 
kled beneath  the  awnings  on  her  after  deck, 
and  a  boarding  light  indicated  the  lowered 
gangway. 

The  yacht  was  moored  about  three  hundred 
feet  from  the  landing-stage.  Her  graceful  out- 
lines were  clearly  discernible  against  the  black, 
moving  plain  of  the  river.  Just  in  that  spot 
shone  her  radiance,  lending  a  sense  of  opu- 
lence and  security.  For  the  rest,  that  part  of 
New  York's  great  waterway  was  dim  and 
impalpable. 

Try  as  he  might,  the  detective  could  see  no 
small  craft  afloat.  The  yacht's  gig,  waiting 
at  the  clubhouse,  was  hidden  from  view.  He 
sped  rapidly  down  the  steps,  and  found  the 
patrolman. 

"That  you,  Nolan?"  he  said. 

The  man  peered  at  him. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Clancy,  is  it?"  he  replied. 

"You  know  Senator  Meiklejohn  by  sight!" 

"Sure  I  do." 

"When  he  comes  along  hail  him.  Say  'Good 
evening,  Senator.'  I'll  hear  you." 

Clancy  promptly  moved  off  along  the  path 
which  runs  parallel  with  the  railway.  Nolan, 


2  DARING  CRIME  17 

though  puzzled,  put  no  questions,  being  well 
aware  he  would  be  told  nothing  more. 

Three  gentlemen  came  down  the  cliff,  and 
crossed  the  bridge.  One  was  Van  Hofen  him- 
self. Now,  the  fates  had  willed  that  Ronald 
Tower  should  come  next,  and  alone.  He  was 
hurrying.  He  had  seen  figures  entering  the 
club,  and  wanted  to  join  them  in  the  gig. 

The  policeman  made  the  same  mistake  as 
many  others. 

"Good  evening  Senator,"  he  said. 

Tower  nodded  and  laughed.  He  had  no 
time  to  correct  the  harmless  blunder.  Even 
so,  he  was  too  late  for  the  boat,  which  was 
already  well  away  from  the  stage  when  he 
reached  it.  He  lighted  a  cigarette,  and  strolled 
along  the  narrow  terrace  between  river  and 
lawn. 

Clancy,  on  receiving  his  cue,  followed  Tower. 
An  attendant  challenged  him  at  the  iron  gate, 
but  Nolan  certified  that  this  diminutive  stranger 
was  "all  right." 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  the  dectective's  tongue 
to  ask  if  Mr.  Meiklejohn  had  gone  into  the 
clubhouse  when  he  saw,  as  he  imagined,  the 
Senator's  tall  form  silhouetted  against  the 
vague  carpet  of  the  river;  so  he  passed  on, 
and  this  minor  incident  contributed  its  quota 
to  a  tragic  occurrence.  He  heard  some  one 
behind  him  on  the  bridge,  but  paid  no  heed, 


18         TEE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

his  wits  being  bent  on  noting  anything  that 
took  place  in  the  semi-obscurity  of  the  river's 
edge. 

Meanwhile,  the  patrolman,  encountering  a 
double  of  Senator  Meiklejohn,  was  dumb- 
founded momentarily.  He  sought  enlighten- 
ment from  the  attendant. 

"  An',  for  the  love  of  Mike,  who  was  the 
first  wan!"  he  demanded,  when  assured  that 
the  latest  arrival  was  really  the  Senator. 

"Mr.  Ronald  Tower,"  said  the  man. 
"They're  like  as  two  peas  in  a  pod,  ain't 
they?" 

Nolan  muttered  something.  He,  too,  crossed 
the  bridge,  meaning  to  find  Clancy  and  explain 
his  error.  Thus,  the  four  men  were  not  widely 
separated,  but  Tower  led  by  half  a  minute — 
long  enough,  in  fact,  to  be  at  the  north  end  of 
the  terrace  before  Meiklejohn  passed  the 
gate. 

There,  greatly  to  his  surprise,  he  looked 
down  into  a  small  motor-boat,  with  two  occu- 
pants, keeping  close  to  the  sloping  wall.  The 
craft  and  its  crew  could  have  no  reasonable 
business  there.  They  suggested  something 
sinister  and  furtive.  The  engine  was  stopped, 
and  one  of  the  men,  huddled  up  in  the  bows, 
was  holding  the  boat  against  the  pull  of  the 
tide  by  using  a  boathook  as  a  punting  pole. 

Tower,   though  good-natured   and  unsuspi- 


A  DARING  CRIME  19 

cious,  was  naturally  puzzled  by  this  appari- 
tion. He  bent  forward  to  examine  it  more  def- 
initely, and  rested  his  hands  on  a  low  railing. 
Then  he  was  seen  by  those  below. 

"That  you?"  growled  the  second  man, 
standing  up  suddenly. 

"It  is,"  said  Tower,  speaking  with  strict 
accuracy,  and  marveling  now  who  on  earth 
could  have  arranged  a  meeting  at  such  a  place 
and  in  such  bizarre  conditions. 

"Well,  here  I  am,"  came  the  gruff  an- 
nouncement. "The  cops  are  after  me.  Some 
one  must  have  tipped  them  off.  If  it  was  you 
I'll  get  to  know  and  even  things  up,  P.  D.  Q. 
Chew  on  that  during  the  night's  festivities,  I 
advise  "you.  Brought  that  wrad?" 

Tower  was  the  last  man  breathing  to  handle 
this  queer  situation  discreetly.  He  ought  to 
have  temporized,  but  he  loathed  anything  in 
the  nature  of  vulgar  or  criminal  intrigue.  Be- 
ing quick-tempered  withal,  if  deliberately  in- 
sulted, he  resented  this  fellow's  crude  speech. 

"No,"  he  cried  hotly.  "What  you  really 
want  is  a  policeman,  and  there's  one  close  at 
hand —  Hi!  Officer!"  he  shouted:  "Come 
here  at  once.  There  are  two  rascals  in  a 
boat—" 

Something  swirled  through  the  darkness, 
and  his  next  word  was  choked  in  a  cry  of 
mortal  fear,  for  a  lasso  had  fallen  on  his 


20         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

shoulders  and  was  drawn  taut.  Before  he 
could  as  much  as  lift  his  hands  he  was  dragged 
bodily  over  the  railing  and  headlong  into  the 
river. 

Clancy,  forced  by  circumstances  to  remain 
at  a  distance,  could  only  overhear  Tower's 
share  in  the  brief  conversation.  The  tones  in 
the  voice  perplexed  him,  but  the  preconcerted 
element  in  the  affair  seemed  to  offer  proof 
positive  that  Senator  Meiklejohn  had  kept  his 
appointment.  He  was  just  in  time  to  see  Tow- 
er's legs  disappearing,  and  a  loud  splash  told 
what  had  happened.  He  was  not  armed.  He 
never  carried  a  revolver  unless  the  quest  of 
the  hour  threatened  danger  or  called  for  a 
display  of  force.  In  a  word,  he  was  utterly 
powerless. 

Senator  Meiklejohn,  alive  to  the  vital  fact 
that  some  one  on  the  terrace  had  discovered 
the  boat,  hung  back  dismayed.  He  was  joined 
by  Nolan,  who  could  not  understand  the  sud- 
den commotion. 

"What's  up?"  Nolan  asked.  " Didn't  some 
wan  shout?" 

Clancy,  in  all  his  experience  of  crime  and 
criminals,  had  never  before  encountered  such 
an  amazing  combination  of  unforeseen  condi- 
tions. The  boat's  motor  was  already  chugging 
breathlessly,  and  the  small  craft  was  curving 
out  into  the  gloom.  He  saw  a  man  hauling  in 


A  DARING  CRIME  21 

a  rope  from  the  stern,  and  well  did  he  know 
why  the  cord  seemed  to  be  attached  to  a  heavy 
weight.  Not  far  away  he  made  out  the  yacht's 
gig  returning  to  the  stage. 

"Sans  Souci  ahoy!"  he  almost  screamed. 
"Head  off  that  launch!  There's  murder 
done!'* 

It  was  a  hopeless  effort,  of  course,  though 
the  sailors  obeyed  instantly,  and  bent  to  their 
oars.  Soon  they,  too,  vanished  in  the  murk, 
but,  finding  they  were  completely  outpaced, 
came  back  seeking  for  instructions  which  could 
not  be  given.  The  detective  thought  he  was 
bewitched  when  he  ran  into  Senator  Meikle- 
john,  pallid  and  trembling,  standing  on  the  ter- 
race with  Nolan. 

"You?"  he  shrieked  in  a  shrill  falselto. 
"Then,  in  heaven's  name,  who  is  the  man  who 
has  just  been  pulled  into  the  river  ? ' ' 

"Tower!"  gasped  the  Senator.  "Mr.  Ronald 
Tower.  They  mistook  him  for  me." 

"Faith,  an'  I  did  that  same,"  muttered  the 
patrolman,  whose  slow-moving  wits  could  as- 
similate only  one  thing  at  a  time. 

Clancy,  afire  with  rage  and  a  sense  of  inex- 
plicable failure,  realized  that  Meikle John's  ad- 
mission and  its  ROW  compulsory  explanation 
could  wait  a  calmer  moment.  The  club  attend- 
ant, attracted  by  the  hubbub,  raced  to  the  lawn, 
and  the  detective  tackled  him. 


22         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

"Isn't  there  a  motor  launch  on  the  yacht!" 
lie  asked. 

"Yes,  sir,  but  it'll  be  all  sheeted  up  on  deck." 

"Have  you  a  megaphone?" 

"Yes." 

The  man  ran  and  grabbed  the  instrument 
from  its  hook,  so  Clancy  bellowed  the  alarm- 
ing news  to  Mr.  Van  Hofen  and  the  others 
already  on  board  the  Sans  Souci  that  Eonald 
Tower  had  been  dragged  into  the  river  and 
probably  murdered.  But  what  could  they  do! 
The  speedy  rescue  of  Tower,  dead  or  alive, 
was  simply  impossible. 

The  gig  arrived.  Clancy  stormed  by  tele- 
phone at  a  police  station-house  and  at  the  up- 
river  station  of  the  harbor  police,  but  such 
vain  efforts  were  the  mere  necessities  of  offi- 
cialdom. None  knew  better  than  he  that  an 
extraordinary  crime  had  been  carried  through 
under  his  very  eyes,  yet  its  daring  perpetra- 
tors had  escaped,  and  he  could  supply  no  de- 
scription of  their  appearance  to  the  men  who 
would  watch  the  neighboring  ferries  and 
wharves. 

Van  Hofen  and  his  friends,  startled  and 
grieved,  came  ashore  in  the  gig,  and  Clancy 
was  striving  to  give  them  some  account  of  the 
tragedy  without  revealing  its  inner  signifi- 
cance when  his  roving  glance  missed  Meikle- 
john  from  the  distraught  group  of  men. 


A  DARING  CRIME  23 

"Where  is  the  Senator?"  he  cried,  turning 
on  the  gaping'  Nolan. 

"Gee,  he's  knocked  out,"  said  the  police- 
man. "He  axed  me  to  tell  you  he'd  gone 
down-town.  Ye  see,  some  wan  has  to  find  Mrs. 
Tower." 

Clancy's  black  eyes  glittered  with  fury,  yet 
he  spoke  no  word.  A  blank  silence  fell  on 
the  rest.  They  had  not  thought  of  the  be- 
reaved wife,  but  Meiklejohn  had  remembered. 
That  was  kind  of  him.  The  Senator  always 
did  the  right  thing.  And  how  he  must  be  suf- 
fering! The  Towers  were  his  closest  friends! 


CHAPTER  III. 

WINIFRED    BABTLETT    HEARS    SOMETHING 

EARLY  next  morning  a  girl  attired  in  a  neat 
but  inexpensive  costume  entered  Central  Park 
by  the  One  Hundred  and  Second  Street  gate, 
and  walked  swiftly  by  a  winding  path  to  the 
exit  on  the  west  side  at  One  Hundredth  Street. 

She  moved  with  the  easy  swing  of  one  to 
whom  walking  was  a  pleasure.  Without  hurry 
or  apparent  effort  her  even,  rapid  strides 
brought  her  along  at  a  pace  of  fully  four  miles 
an  hour.  And  an  hour  was  exactly  the  time 
Winifred  Bartlett  needed  if  she  would  carry 
out  her  daily  program,  which,  when  conditions 
permitted,  involved  a  four-mile  detour  by  way 
of  Riverside  Drive  and  Seventy-Second  Street 
to  the  Ninth  Avenue  "L."  This  morning  she 
had  actually  ten  minutes  in  hand,  and  prom- 
ised herself  an  added  treat  in  making  little 
pauses  at  her  favorite  view-points  on  the  Hud- 
son. 

To  gain  this  hour's  freedom  Winifred  had 
to  practise  some  harmless  duplicity,  as  shall 
be  seen.  She  was  obliged  to  rise  long  before 
the  rest  of  her  fellow-workers  in  the  bookbind-; 

24 


WINIFRED  HEARS  SOMETHING      25 

ing  factory  of  Messrs.  Brown,  Son  &  Brown, 
an  establishment  located  in  the  least  inviting 
part  of  Greenwich  Village. 

But  she  went  early  to  bed,  and  the  beams  of 
the  morning  sun  drew  her  forth  as  a  linnet  from 
its  nest.  Unless  the  weather  was  absolutely 
prohibitive  she  took  the  walk  every  day,  for 
she  revelled  in  the  ever-changing  tints  of  the 
trees,  the  music  of  the  songbirds,  and  the  gam- 
bols of  the  squirrels  in  the  park,  while  the 
broad  highway  of  the  river,  leading  to  and 
from  she  hardly  knew  what  enchanted  lands, 
brought  vague  dreams  of  some  delightful  fu-^ 
ture  where  daily  toil  would  not  claim  her  and 
she  might  be  as  those  other  girls  of  the  outer 
world  to  whom  existence  seemed  such  a  joyous 
thing. 

Winifred  was  not  discontented  with  her  lot 
— the  ichor  of  youth  and  good  health  flowed 
too  strongly  in  her  veins.  But  at  times  she 
was  bewildered  by  a  sense  of  aloofness  from 
the  rest  of  humanity. 

Above  all  did  she  suffer  from  the  girls  she 
met  in  the  warehouse.  Some  were  coarse, 
nearly  every  one  was  frivolous.  Their  talk, 
their  thinly-veiled  allusions  to  a  night  life  in 
which  she  bore  no  part,  puzzled  and  disturbed 
her.  True,  the  wild  revels  of  which  they 
boasted  did  not  sound  either  marvelous  or 
attractive  when  analyzed.  A  couple  of  hours 


26         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

at  the  movies,  a  frolic  in  a  dance  hall,  a  quar- 
rel about  some  youthful  gallant,  violent  fluc- 
tuations from  arm-laced  friendship  to  spar- 
kling-eyed hatred  and  back  again  to  tears  and 
kisses — these  joys  and  cankers  formed  the  lim- 
ited gamut  of  their  emotions. 

For  all  that,  Winifred  could  not  help  asking 
herself  with  ever  increasing  insistence  why 
she  alone,  among  a  crude,  noisy  sisterhood  of 
a  hundred  young  women  of  her  own  age, 
should  be  with  them  yet  not  of  them.  She 
realized  that  her  education  fitted  her  for  a 
higher  place  in  the  army  of  New  York  work- 
ers than  a  bookbinder's  bench.  She  could  soon 
have  acquired  proficiency  as  a  stenographer. 
Pleasant,  well-paid  situations  abounded  in  the 
stores  and  wholesale  houses.  There  was  even 
some  alluring  profession  called  "the  stage/* 
where  a  girl  might  actually  earn  a  living  by 
singing  and  dancing,  and  Winifred  could  cer- 
tainly sing  and  was  certain  she  could  dance  if 
taught. 

What  queer  trick  of  fate,  then,  had  brought 
her  to  Brown,  Son  &  Brown's  in  the  spring  of 
that  year,  and  kept  her  there?  She  could  not 
tell.  She  could  not  even  guess  why  she  dwelt 
so  far  up-town,  while  every  other  girl  in  the 
establishment  had  a  home  either  in  or  near 
Greenwich  Village. 


WINIFRED  HEARS  SOMETHING      27 

Heigho!  Life  was  a  riddle.  Surely  some 
day  she  would  solve  it. 

Her  mind  ran  on  this  problem  more  strongly 
than  usual  that  morning.  Still  pondering  it, 
she  diverged  for  a  moment  at  the  Soldiers ' 
and  Sailors'  Monument,  and  stood  on  the  stone 
terrace  which  commands  such  a  magnificent 
stretch  of  the  silvery  Hudson,  with  the  green 
heights  of  the  New  Jersey  shore  directly  op- 
posite, and  the  Palisades  rearing  their  lofty 
crests  away  to  the  north. 

Suddenly  she  became  aware  that  a  small 
group  of  men  had  gathered  there,  and  were 
displaying  a  lively  interest  in  two  motor  boats 
on  the  river.  Something  out  of  the  common 
had  stirred  them;  voices  were  loud  and  ges- 
tures animated. 

"Look!"  said  one,  "they've  gotten  that 
boat!" 

"You  can't  be  sure,"  doubted  another, 
though  his  manner  showed  that  he  wanted  only 
to  be  convinced. 

"D'ye  think  a  police  launch  'ud  be  foolin' 
around  with  a  tow  at  this  time  o'  day  if  it 
wasn't  something  special?"  persisted  the  first 
speaker.  "Can't  yer  see  it's  empty?  There's 
a  cop  pointin'  now  to  the  clubhouse." 

"Good  for  you,"  pronounced  the  doubtful 
one.  The  pointing  cop  had  clinched  the  argu- 
ment. 


28         TEE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

"An'  they're  headin'  that  way,"  came  the 
cry. 

Off  raced  the  men.  Winifred  found  that 
people  on  top  of  motor-omnibuses  scurrying 
down-town  were  also  watching  the  two  craft. 
Opposite  the  end  of  Eighty-Sixth  Street  such 
a  crowd  assembled  as  though  by  magic  that 
she  could  not  see  over  the  railings.  She  could 
not  imagine  why  people  should  be  so  worked 
up  by  the  mere  finding  of  an  empty  boat.  She 
heard  allusions  to  names,  but  they  evoked  no 
echo  in  her  mind.  At  last,  approaching  a  girl 
among  the  sightseers,  she  put  a  timid  ques- 
tion: 

"Can  you  tell  me  what  is  the  matter1?"  she 
said. 

"They've  found  the  boat,"  came  the  ready 
answer. 

"Yes,  but  what  boat?    Why  any  boat!" 

"Haven't  you  read  about  the  murder  last 
night.  Mr.  Van  Hofen,  who  owns  that  yacht 
there,  the  San  Sowsy,  had  a  party  of  friends 
on  board,  an'  one  of  'em  was  dragged  into  the 
river  an'  drowned.  Nice  goin's  on.  San 
Sowsy — it's  a  good  name  for  the  whole  bunch, 
I  guess." 

Winifred  did  not  understand  why  the  girl 
laughed. 

"What  a  terrible  thing!"  she  said.    "Per- 


WINIFRED  HEARS  SOMETHING      29 

haps  it  was  only  an  accident;  and  sad  enough 
at  that  if  some  poor  man  lost  his  life." 

"Oh,  no.  It's  a  murder  right  enough.  The 
papers  are  full  of  it.  I  was  walkin'  here  at 
nine  o'clock  with  a  fellow.  It  might  ha'  been 
done  under  me  very  nose.  What  d'ye  know 
about  that!" 

"It's  very  sad,"  repeated  Winifred.  "Such 
dreadful  things  seem  to  be  almost  impossible 
under  this  blue  sky  and  in  bright  sunshine. 
Even  the  river  does  not  look  cruel." 

She  went  on,  having  no  time  for  further 
dawdling.  Her  informant  glanced  after  her 
curiously,  for  Winifred's  cheap  clothing  and 
worn  shoes  were  oddly  at  variance  with  her 
voice  and  manner. 

At  Seventy-Second  Street  Winifred  bought 
a  newspaper,  which  she  read  instead  of  the 
tiny  volume  of  Browning's  poems  ^carried  in 
her  hand-bag.  She  always  contrived  to  have 
a  book  or  periodical  for  the  train  journeys, 
since  men  had  a  way  of  catching  her  eye  when 
she  glanced  around  thoughtlessly,  and  such 
incidents  were  annoying.  She  soon  learned 
the  main  details  of  "The  Yacht  Mystery." 
The  account  of  Ronald  Tower's  dramatic  end 
was  substantially  accurate.  It  contained,  of 
course,  no  allusion  to  Senator  Meikle John's 
singular  connection  with  the  affair,  but  Clancy 
had  taken  care  that  a  disturbing  paragraph 


30         TEE  BAETLETT  MYSTERY 

should  appear  with  the  rest  of  a  lurid 
write-up. 

"Sinister  rumors  are  current  in  clubland," 
read  Winifred.  "These  warrant  the  belief 
that  others  beside  the  thugs  in  the  boat  are 
implicated  in  the  tragedy.  Indeed,  it  is  whis- 
pered that  a  man  high  in  the  political  world 
can,  if  he  chooses,  throw  light  on  what  is, 
at  this  writing,  an  inexplicable  crime,  a  crime 
which  would  be  incredible  if  it  had  not  actu- 
ally taken  place." 

The  reporter  did  not  know,  and  Clancy  did 
not  tell  him,  just  what  this  innuendo  meant. 
The  detective  was  anxious  that  Senator  Meik- 
lejohn  should  realize  the  folly  of  refusing  all 
information  to  the  authorities,  and  this  thinly- 
veiled  threat  of  publicity  was  one  way  of 
bringing  him  to  his  senses. 

Winifred  had  never  before  come  into  touch, 
so  to  speak,  with  any  deed  of  criminal  vio- 
lence. She  was  so  absorbed  in  the  story  of 
the  junketing  at  a  fashionable  club,  with  its 
astounding  sequel  in  a  locality  familiar  to  her 
eyes,  that  she  hardly  noticed  a  delay  on  the 
line. 

She  did  not  even  know  that  she  would  be  ten 
minutes  late  until  she  saw  a  clock  at  Four- 
teenth Street.  Then  she  raced  to  the  door  of 
a  big,  many-storied  building.  A  timekeeper 
shook  his  head  at  her,  but,  punctual  as  a  rule, 


WINIFRED  HEARS  SOMETHING      31 

on  wet  mornings  she  was  invariably  the  first 
to  arrive,  so  the  watch-dog  compromised  on 
the  give-and-take  principle.  When  she  emerged 
from  the  elevator  at  the  ninth  floor  her 
cheeks  were  still  suffused  with  color,  her  eyes 
were  alight,  her  lips  parted  under  the  spell  of 
excitement  and  haste.  In  a  word,  she  looked 
positively  bewitching. 

Two  people  evidently  took  this  view  of  her 
as  she  advanced  into  the  workroom  after  hang- 
ing up  her  hat  and  coat. 

"You're  late  again,  Bartlett,"  snapped  Miss 
Agatha  Sugg,  a  forewoman,  whose  initials  sug- 
gested an  obvious  nickname  among  the  set  of 
flippant  girls  she  ruled  with  a  severity  that 
was  also  ungracious.  "I'll  not  speak  to  you 
any  more  on  the  matter.  Next  time  you'll  be 
fired.  Seel" 

Winifred's  high  color  fled  before  this  dire 
threat.  Even  the  few  dollars  a  week  she 
earned  by  binding  books  was  essential  to  the 
up-keep  of  her  home.  At  any  rate  this  fact 
was  dinned  into  her  ears  constantly,  and  formed 
a  ready  argument  against  any  change  of  em- 
ployment. 

"I'm  sorry,  Miss  Sugg,"  she  stammered. 
"I  didn't  think  I  had  lost  any  time.  Indeed, 
I  started  out  earlier  than  usual." 

"Kubbish!"  snorted  Miss  Sugg.  "What 're 
givin'  me?  It's  a  fine  day." 


"Yes,"  said  Winifred  timidly,  "but  unfor- 
tunately I  stopped  a  while  on  Riverside  Drive 
to  watch  the  police  bringing  in  the  boat  from 
which  Mr.  Tower  was  mur — pulled  into  the 
river  last  night." 

"Riverside  Drive!"  snapped  the  forewoman. 
"Your  address  is  East  One  Hundred  and 
Twelfth  Street,  ain't  it?  What  were  you  doing 
on  Riverside  Drive?" 

"I  walk  that  way  every  morning  unless  it 
is  raining." 

Miss  Sugg  looked  incredulous,  but  felt  that 
she  was  traveling  outside  her  own  territory. 

"Anyhow,"  she  said,  "that's  your  affair,  not 
mine,  an'  it's  no  excuse  for  bein'  late." 

"Oh,  come  now,"  intervened  a  man's  voice, 
"this  young  lady  is  not  so  far  behind  time  as 
to  cause  such  a  row.  She  can  pull  out  a  bit 
and  make  up  for  it." 

Miss  Sugg  wheeled  wrathfully  to  find  Mr. 
Fowle,  manager  on  that  floor,  gazing  at  Wini- 
fred with  marked  approval.  Fowle,  a  shifty- 
eyed  man  of  thirty,  compactly  built,  and  some- 
what of  a  dandy,  seldom  gave  heed  to  any  of 
the  girls  employed  by  Brown,  Son  &  Brown. 
His  benevolent  attitude  toward  Winifred  was 
a  new  departure. 

"Young  lady!"  gasped  the  forewoman.  She 
was  in  such  a  temper  that  other  words  failed. 

"Yes,  she  isn't  an  old  one,"  smirked  Fowle. 


WINIFRED  HEARS  SOMETHING      33 

" That's  all  right,  Miss  Bartlett,  get  on  with 
your  work.  Miss  Sugg's  bark  is  worse  than 
her  bite." 

Though  he  had  poured  oil  on  the  troubled 
waters  his  air  was  not  altogether  reassuring. 
Winifred  went  to  her  bench  in  a  flurry  of  trep- 
idation. She  dreaded  the  vixenish  Miss  Sugg 
less  than  the  too  complaisant  manager.  Some- 
how, she  fancied  that  he  would  soon  speak  to 
her  again ;  when,  a  few  minutes  later,  he  drew 
near,  and  she  felt  rather  than  saw  that  he  was 
staring  at  her  boldly,  she  flushed  to  the  nape 
of  her  graceful  neck. 

Yet  he  put  a  quite  orthodox  question. 

"Did  I  get  your  story  right  when  you  came 
in?"  he  said.  "I  think  you  told  Miss  Sugg 
that  the  harbor  police  had  picked  up  the  mo- 
tor-boat in  that  yacht  case." 

"So  I  heard,"  said  Winifred.  She  was  in 
charge  of  a  wire-stitching  machine,  and  her 
deft  fingers  were  busy.  Moreover,  she  was  re- 
solved not  to  give  Fowle  any  pretext  for  pro- 
longing the  conversation. 

"Who  told  you?" 

The  manager's  tone  grew  a  trifle  less  cor- 
dial. He  was  not  accustomed  to  being  held 
at  arm's  length  by  any  young  woman  in  the 
establishment  whom  he  condescended  to  notice. 

"I  really  don't  know,"  and  Winifred  began 
placing  her  array  of  work  in  sorted  piles. 


34         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

"Indeed,  I  spoke  carelessly.  No  one  told  me. 
I  saw  a  commotion  on  Riverside  Drive,  and 
heard  a  man  arguing  with  others  that  a  boat 
then  being  towed  by  a  police  launch  must  be 
the  missing  one." 

Fowle 's  whiff  of  annoyance  had  passed.  He 
had  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  such  an  ex- 
tremely pretty  girl  would  surely  own  a  sweet- 
heart who  escorted  her  to  and  from  work  each 
day.  He  did  not  suspect  that  every  junior 
clerk  downstairs  had  in  turn  offered  his  ser- 
vices in  this  regard,  but  with  such  lack  of  suc- 
cess that  each  would-be  suitor  deemed  Winifred 
conceited. 

"I  wish  I  had  been  there,"  he  said.  "Do 
you  go  home  the  same  way?" 

"No." 

Winifred  was  aware  that  the  other  girls 
were  watching  her  furtively  and  exchanging 
meaning  looks. 

"You  take  the  Third  Avenue  L,  I  suppose?" 
persisted  Fowle.  Then  Winifred  faced  him 
squarely.  For  some  reason  her  temper  got 
the  better  of  her. 

"It  is  a  house  rule,  Mr.  Fowle,"  she  said, 
"that  the  girls  are  forbidden  to  talk  during 
working  hours." 

"Nonsense,"  laughed  Fowle.  "I'm  in 
charge  here,  an'  what  I  say  goes." 

Jle  left  her,  however,  and  busied  himself 


WINIFRED  HEARS  SOMETHING      35 

elsewhere.  Apparently,  he  was  even  forgiving 
enough  to  call  Miss  Sugg  out  of  the  room  and 
detain  her  all  the  rest  of  the  morning. 

Winifred  was  promptly  rallied  by  some  of 
her  companions. 

"I  must  say  this  for  you,  Winnie  Bartlett, 
you  don't  think  you're  the  whole  shootin' 
match,"  said  a  stout,  red-faced  creature,  who 
would  have  been  more  at  home  on  a  farm  than 
in  a  New  York  warehouse,  "but  it  gets  my  goat 
when  you  hand  the  mustard  to  Fowle  in  that 
wray.  If  he  made  goo-goo  eyes  at  me,  I'd  play, 
too." 

"I  wish  little  Carlotta  was  a  blue-eyed,  gold- 
en-haired queen,"  sighed  another,  a  squat  Nea- 
politan with  the  complexion  of  a  Moor. 
"She's  give  Fowle  a  chance  to  dig  into  his 
pocketbook,  believe  me." 

The  youthful  philosopher  won  a  chorus  of 
approval.  All  the  girls  liked  Winifred.  They 
even  tacitly  admitted  that  she  belonged  to  a 
different  order,  and  seldom  teased  her. 
Fowle 's  obvious  admiration,  however,  imposed 
too  severe  a  strain,  and  their  tongues  ran 
freely. 

The  luncheon-hour  came,  and  Winifred  hur- 
ried out  with  the  others.  They  patronized  a 
restaurant  in  Fourteenth  Street.  At  a  news- 
stand she  purchased  an  evening  paper,  a  rare 
event,  since  she  had  to  account  for  every  cent 


36         THE  BABTLETT  MYSTERY 

of   expenditure.     Though  allowed  books,   she 
was  absolutely  forbidden  newspapers! 

But  this  forlorn  girl,  who  knew  so  little  of 
the  great  city  in  whose  life  she  was  such  an  in- 
significant item,  felt  oddly  concerned  in  "The 
Yacht  Mystery."  It  was  the  first  noteworthy 
event  of  which  she  had  even  a  remote  first- 
hand knowledge.  That  empty  launch,  its  very 
abondonment  suggesting  eeriness  and  fatality, 
was  a  tangible  thing.  Was  she  not  one  of  the 
few  who  had  literally  seen  it?  So  she  invested 
her  penny,  and  after  reading  of  the  discovery 
of  the  boat — it  was  found  moored  to  a  wharf 
at  the  foot  of  Fort  Lee — breathlessly  read: 

As  the  outcome  of  information  given  by  a  well- 
known  Senator,  the  police  have  obtained  an  important 
clue  which  leads  straight  to  a  house  in  One  Hundred 
and  Twelfth  Street. 

1 l Well,"  mused  Winifred,  wide-eyed  wdth  as- 
tonishment. "Fancy  that!  The  very  street 
where  I  live!" 

She  read  on : 

The  arrest  of  at  least  one  person,  a  woman,  sus- 
pected of  complicity  in  the  crime  may  occur  at  any 
moment.  Detectives  are  convinced  that  the  trail  of 
the  murderers  will  soon  be  clearer. 

Every  effort  is  being  made  to  recover  Mr.  Tower's 
body,  which,  it  is  conceivable,  may  have  been  weigh tc  1 
and  sunk  in  the  river  near  the  spot  where  the  boat 
was  tied. 


WINIFRED  HEARS  SOMETHING      37 

Winifred  gave  more  attention  to  the  news- 
paper report  than  to  her  frugal  meal.  Kesolv- 
ing,  however,  that  Miss  Sugg  should  have  no 
further  cause  for  complaint  that  day,  she  re- 
turned to  the  factory  five  minutes  before  time. 
An  automobile  was  standing  outside  the  en- 
trance, but  she  paid  no  heed  to  it. 

The  checker  tapped  at  his  little  window  as 
she  passed. 

''The  boss  wants  you,"  he  said. 

"Me!"  she  cried.  Her  heart  sank.  Between 
Miss  Sugg  and  Mr.  Fowle  she  had  already 
probably  lost  her  situation! 

"Yep,"  said  the  man.  "You're  Winifred 
Bartlett,  I  guess.  Anyhow,  if  there's  another 
peach  like  you  in  the  bunch  I  haven't  seen 
her." 

She  bit  her  lip  and  tears  trembled  in  her 
eyes.  Perhaps  the  gruff  Cerberus  behind  the 
window  sympathized  with  her.  He  lowered  his 
voice  to  a  hoarse  whisper:  ''There's  a  cop  in 
there,  an'  a  'tec,'  too." 

Winifred  was  startled  out  of  her  forebod- 
ings. 

"They  cannot  want  me!"  she  said  amaz- 
edly. 

"Y0u  never  can  tell,  girlie.  Queer  jinks 
happen  sometimes.  I  wouldn't  bat  an  eye- 
lid if  they  rounded  up  the  boss  hisself." 

She  was  sure  now  that  some  stupid  mistake 


38         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

had  been  made.  At  any  rate,  she  no  longer 
dreaded  dismissal,  and  the  first  intuition  of 
impending  calamity  yielded  to  a  nervous 
curiosity  as  she  pushed  open  a  door  leading  to 
the  general  office. 


CHAPTER  iy 

FURTHER    SURPRISES 

A  CLERK,  one  of  the  would-be  swains  who 
had  met  with  chilling  discouragement  after 
working-hours,  was  evidently  on  the  lookout 
for  her.  An  ignoble  soul  prompted  a  smirk 
of  triumph  now. 

"Go  straight  in,"  he  said,  jerking  a  thumb. 
"A  cop's  waitin'  for  you." 

Winifred  did  not  vouchsafe  him  even  an  in- 
dignant glance.  Holding  her  head  high,  she 
passed  through  the  main  office,  and  made  for 
a  door  marked  "Manager."  She  knocked, 
and  was  admitted  by  Mr.  Fowle.  Grouped 
around  a  table  she  saw  one  of  the  members  of 
the  firm,  the  manager,  a  policeman,  and  a 
dapper  little  man,  slight  of  figure,  who  held 
himself  very  erect.  He  was  dressed  in  blue 
serge,  and  had  the  ivory-white  face  and  wrin- 
kled skin  of  an  actor.  She  was  conscious  at 
once  of  the  penetration  of  his  glance.  His 
eyes  were  black  and  luminous.  They  seemed 
to  pierce  her  with  an  X-ray  quality  of  com- 
prehension. 

39 


40         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

"This  is  the  girl,"  announced  Mr.  Fowle 
deferentially. 

The  little  man  in  the  blue  suit  took  the  lead 
forthwith. 

"You  are  Winifred  Bartlett?"  he  said,  and 
by  some  subtle  inter-flow  of  magnetism  Wini- 
fred knew  instantly  that  she  had  nothing  to 
fear  from  this  diminutive  stranger. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  looking  at  him  squarely. 

"You  live  in  East  One  Hundred  and  Twelfth 
Street!" 

"Yes." 

"With  a  woman  described  as  your  aunt,  and 
known  as  Miss  Rachel  Craik?" 

"Yes." 

Each  affirmative  marked  a  musical  crescendo. 
Especially  was  Winifred  surprised  by  the  scep- 
tical description  of  her  only  recognized  rela- 
tive. 

"Well,"  went  on  Clancy,  suppressing  a  smile 
at  the  girl's  na'ive  astonishment,  "don't  be 
alarmed,  but  I  want  you  to  come  with  me  to 
Mulberry  Street." 

Now,  Winifred  had  just  been  reading  about 
certain  activities  in  Mulberry  Street,  and  her 
eyebrows  rounded  in  real  amazement. 

"Isn't  that  the  Police  Headquarters?"  she 
asked. 

Fowle  chuckled,  whereupon  Clancy  said 
pleasantly : 


FURTHER  SURPRISES  41 

"Yes.  One  man  here  seems  to  know  the  ad- 
dress quite  intimately.  But  that  fact  need  not 
set  your  heart  fluttering.  The  chief  of  the  De- 
tective Bureau  wishes  to  put  a  few  questions. 
That  is  all." 

"Questions  about  what?" 

Winifred's  natural  dignity  came  to  her  aid. 
She  refused  to  have  this  grave  matter  treated 
as  a  joke. 

"Take  my  advice,  Miss  Bartlett,  and  don't 
discuss  things  further  until  you  have  met  Mr. 
Steingall,"  said  Clancy. 

"But  I  have  never  even  heard  of  Mr.  Stein- 
gall,"  she  protested.  "What  right  have  you 
or  he  to  take  me  away  from  my  work  to  a  police- 
station  ?  What  wrong  have  I  done  to  any  one  ? ' ' 

"None,  I  believe." 

"Surely  I  have  a  right  to  some  explanation." 

"If  you  insist  I  am  bound  to  answer." 

"Then  I  do  insist,"  and  Winifred's  height- 
ened color  and  wrathful  eyes  only  enhanced  her 
beauty.  Clancy  spread  his  hands  in  a  gesture 
inherited  from  a  French  mother. 

"Very  well,"  he  said.  "You  are  required 
to  give  evidence  concerning  the  death  of  Mr. 
Ronald  Tower.  Now,  I  cannot  say  any  more. 
I  have  a  car  outside.  You  will  be  detained  less 
than  an  hour.  The  same  car  will  bring  you 
back,  and  I  think  I  can  guarantee  that  your  em- 
ployers will  raise  no  difficulty." 


42         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

The  head  of  the  firm  growled  agreement. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  the  staid  respectability  of 
Brown,  Son  &  Brown  had  sustained  a  shock  by 
the  mere  presence  of  the  police.  Murder  has 
an  ugly  aspect.  It  was  often  bound  up  in  the 
firm's  products,  but  never  before  had  it  entered 
that  temple  of  efficiency  in  other  guise. 

Clancy  sensed  the  slow  fermentation  of  the 
Pharisaical  mind. 

"If  I  had  known  what  sort  of  girl  this  was 
I  would  never  have  brought  a  policeman,"  he 
muttered  into  the  great  man's  ear.  "She  has 
no  more  to  do  with  this  affair  than  you  have." 

"It  is  very  annoying — very,"  was  the  peev- 
ish reply. 

"What  is?    Assisting  the  police?" 

"Oh,  no.    Didn't  mean  that,  of  course." 

The  detective  thought  he  might  do  more 
narm  than  good  by  pressing  for  a  definition  of 
the  firm's  annoyance.  He  turned  to  Winifred. 

"Are  you  ready,  Miss  Bartlett?"  he  said. 
"The  only  reason  the  Bureau  has  for  troubling 
you  is  the  accident  of  your  address." 

Almost  before  the  girl  realized  the  new  and 
astounding  conditions  which  had  come  into  her 
life  she  was  seated  in  a  closed  automobile  and 
speeding  swiftly  down-town. 

She  was  feminine  enough,  however,  to  ply 
Clancy  with  questions,  and  he  had  to  fence  with 
her,  as  it  was  all-important  that  such  inf  orma- 


FURTHER  SURPRISES  43 

tion  as  she  might  be  able  to  give  should  be  im- 
parted when  he  and  Steingall  could  observe 
her  closely.  The  Bureau  hugged  no  delusions. 
Its  vast  experience  of  the  criminal  world  ren- 
dered misplaced  sympathy  with  erring  mortals 
almost  impossible.  Young  or  old,  rich  or  poor, 
beautiful  or  ugly,  the  strange  procession  which 
passes  in  unending  review  before  the  police 
authorities  is  subjected  to  impartial  yet  search- 
ing analysis.  Few  of  the  guilty  ones  escape 
suspicion,  no  matter  how  slight  the  connecting 
clue  or  scanty  the  evidence.  On  the  other  hand, 
Steingall  and  his  trusty  aid  seldom  made  a 
mistake  when  they  decided,  as  Clancy  had  al- 
ready done  in  Winifred's  case,  that  real  inno- 
cence had  come  under  the  shadow  of  crime. 

Steingall  shared  Clancy's  opinion  the  instant 
he  set  eyes  on  the  new  witness.  He  gazed  at 
her  with  a  humorous  dismay  that  was  wholly 
genuine. 

"Sit  there,  Miss  Bartlett,"  he  said,  rising 
to  place  a  chair  for  her.  "Please  don't  feel 
nervous.  I  am  sure  you  understand  that  only 
those  who  have  broken  the  law  need  fear  it. 
Now,  you  haven't  killed  anybody,  have  you?" 

Winifred  smiled.  She  liked  this  big  man's 
kindly  manner.  Really,  the  police  were  not 
such  terrifying  ogres  when  you  came  to  close 
quarters  with  them. 

"No,  indeed,"  she  said,  little  guessing  that 


44         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

Clancy  had  indulged  in  a  Japanese  grimace  be- 
hind her  back,  thereby  informing  his  chief  that 
"The  Yacht  Mystery"  was  still  maintaining 
its  claim  to  figure  as  one  of  the  most  sensa- 
tional crimes  the  Bureau  had  investigated  dur- 
ing many  a  year. 

Steingall,  wishing  to  put  the  girl  wholly  at 
ease,  affected  to  consult  some  notes  on  his  desk, 
but  Winifred  was  too  wrought  up  to  keep  silent. 

"The  gentleman  who  brought  me  here  told 
me  that  I  would  be  required  to  give  evidence 
concerning  the  murder  of  Mr.  Ronald  Tower," 
she  said.  "Believe  me,  sir,  that  unfortunate 
gentleman's  name  was  unknown  to  me  before  I 
read  it  in  this  morning's  paper.  I  have  no 
knowledge  of  the  manner  of  his  death  other 
than  is  contained  in  the  account  printed  here 
in  this  newspaper." 

She  proffered  the  newspaper  purchased  be- 
fore lunch,  which  she  still  held  in  her  left  hand. 
The  impulsive  action  broadened  Steingall 's 
smile.  He  was  still  utterly  at  a  loss  to  account 
for  this  well-mannered  girl's  queer  environ- 
ment. 

"Why,"  he  cried,  "I  quite  understand  that. 
Mr.  Clancy  didn't  tell  you  we  regarded  you  as 
a  desperate  crook,  did  he?" 

Winifred  yielded  to  the  chief's  obvious  de- 
sire to  lift  their  talk  out  of  the  rut  of  formality. 
She  could  not  help  being  interested  in  these  two 


FURTHER  SURPRISES  45 

men,  so  dissimilar  in  their  characteristics,  yet 
each  so  utterly  unlike  the  somewhat  awesome 
personage  she  would  have  sketched  if  asked  to 
define  her  idea  of  a  "detective."  Clancy,  who 
had  taken  a  chair  at  the  side  of  the  table,  sat 
on  it  as  though  he  were  an  automaton  built  of 
steel  springs  and  ready  to  bounce  instantly  in 
any  given  direction.  SteingalPs  huge  bulk 
lolled  back  indolently.  He  had  been  smoking 
when  the  others  entered,  and  a  half-consumed 
cigar  lay  on  an  ash-tray.  Winifred  thought  it 
would  be  rather  amusing  if  she,  in  turn,  made 
things  comfortable. 

" Please  don't  put  away  your  cigar  on  my 
account,"  he  said.  "I  like  the  smell  of  good 
tobacco." 

"Ha!"  cackled  Clancy. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Steingall,  tucking  the 
Havana  into  a  corner  of  his  mouth.  The  two 
men  exchanged  glances,  and  Winifred  smiled. 
Steingall 's  look  of  tolerant  contempt  at  his 
assistant  was  distinctly  amusing. 

"That  little  shrimp  can't  smoke,  Miss  Bart- 
lett,"  he  explained,  "so  he  is  an  anti-tobacco 
maniac." 

"You  wouldn't  care  to  take  poison,  would 
you?"  and  Clancy  shot  the  words  at  Winifred 
so  sharply  that  she  was  almost  startled. 

"No.    Of  course  not,"  she  agreed. 

"Yet  that  is  what  that  mountain  of  brawn 


46 

does  during  fourteen  hours  out  of  the  twenty- 
four.  Nicotine  is  one  of  the  deadliest  poisons 
known  to  science.  Even  when  absorbed  into 
the  tissues  in  minute  doses  it  corrodes  the  brain 
and  atrophies  the  intellect.  Did  you  see  how 
he  grinned  when  you  described  that  vile  weed 
as  'good  tobacco'?  Now,  you  don't  know  good, 
meaning  real,  tobacco  from  bad,  do  you  ? ' ' 

"I  know  whether  or  not  I  like  the  scent  of 
it,"  persisted  Winifred.  She  began  to  think 
that  officialdom  in  Mulberry  Street  affected  the 
methods  of  the  court  circles  frequented  by  Alice 
and  the  Mad  Hatter. 

"Don't  mind  him,"  put  in  Steingall  genially. 
"He's  a  living  example  of  the  close  alliance  be- 
tween insanity  and  genius.  On  the  tobacco 
question  he's  simply  cracked,  and  that  is  all 
there  is  to  it.  Now  we're  wasting  your  time 
by  this  chatter.  I'll  come  to  serious  business 
by  asking  a  question  which  you  will  not  find 
embarrassing  for  a  good  many  years  yet  to 
come.  How  old  are  you?" 

"Nineteen  last  birthday." 

"When  were  you  born?" 

"On  June  6,  1894." 

"And  where?" 

Winifred  reddened  slightly. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said. 

"What?" 

Steingall  seemed  to  be  immensely  surprised, 


FURTHER  SURPRISES  47 

and  Winifred  proceeded  forthwith  to  throw 
light  on  this  singular  admission,  which  was 
exactly  what  he  meant  her  to  do. 

' '  That  is  a  very  odd  statement,  but  it  is  quite 
true,"  she  said  earnestly.  "My  aunt  would 
never  tell  me  where  I  was  born.  I  believe  it 
was  somewhere  in  the  New  England  States,  but 
I  have  only  the  vaguest  grounds  for  the 
opinion.  What  I  mean  is  that  aunty  occa- 
sionally reveals  a  close  familiarity  with  Boston 
and  Vermont." 

"What  is  her  full  name?" 

"Rachel  Craik." 

"She  has  never  been  married?" 

Winifred's  sense  of  humor  was  keen.  She 
laughed  at  the  idea  of  "Aunt  Rachel"  having 
a  husband. 

"I  don't  think  aunty  will  ever  marry  any- 
body now,"  she  said.  "She  holds  the  opposite 
sex  in  detestation.  No  man  is  ever  admitted 
to  our  house." 

"It  is  a  small,  old-fashioned  residence, 
but  very  large  for  the  requirements  of  two 
women!"  continued  Steingall.  He  took  no 
notes,  and  might  have  been  discussing  the 
weather,  now  that  the  first  whiff  of  wonderment 
as  to  Winifred's  lack  of  information  about  her 
birth-place  had  passed. 

"Yes.    We  have  several  rooms  unoccupied." 

1 '  And  unfurnished  f ' ' 


48         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

"Say  partly  furnished." 

"Ever  had  any  boarders?" 

"No." 

"No  servants,  of  course?" 

"No." 

"And  how  long  have  you  been  employed  in 
Messrs.  Brown,  Son  &  Brown's  bookbinding 
department?" 

"About  six  months." 

"What  do  you  earn!" 

"Eight  dollars  a  week." 

"Is  that  the  average  amount  paid  to  the 
other  girls?" 

' '  Slightly  above  the  average.  I  am  supposed 
to  be  quick  and  accurate." 

"Well  now,  Miss  Bartlett,  you  seem  to  be 
a  very  intelligent  and  well-educated  young 
woman.  How  comes  it  that  you  are  employed 
in  such  work?" 

"It  was  the  best  I  could  find,"  she  volun- 
teered. 

"No  doubt.  But  you  must  be  well  aware  that 
few,  if  any,  among  the  girls  in  the  bookbinding 
business  can  be  your  equal  in  education,  and, 
may  I  add,  in  refinement.  Now,  if  you  were  a 
bookkeeper,  a  cashier  or  a  typist,  I  could  un- 
derstand it ;  but  it  does  seem  odd  to  me  that  you 
should  be  engaged  in  this  kind  of  job." 

"It  was  my  aunt's  wish,"  said  Winifred 
simply. 


FURTHER  SURPRISES  49 

"Ah!" 

Steingall  dwelt  on  the  monosyllable. 

"What  reason  did  she  give  for  such  a  singu- 
lar choice?"  he  went  on. 

"I  confess  it  has  puzzled  me,"  was  the  un- 
affected answer.  "Although  aunty  is  severe  in 
her  manner  she  is  well  educated,  and  she  taught 
me  nearly  all  I  know,  except  music  and  singing, 
for  which  I  took  lessons  from  Signor  Pecci 
ever  since  I  was  a  tiny  mite  until  about  two 
years  ago.  Then,  I  believe,  aunty  lost  a  good 
deal  of  money,  and  it  became  necessary  that  I 
should  earn  something.  Signor  Pecci  offered 
to  get  me  a  position  in  a  theater,  but  she  would 
not  hear  of  it,  nor  would  she  allow  me  to  enter 
a  shop  or  a  restaurant.  Really,  it  was  aunty 
who  got  me  work  with  Messrs.  Brown,  Son  & 
Brown." 

"In  other  words,"  said  Steingall,  "you  were 
deliberately  reared  to  fill  a  higher  social  sta- 
tion, and  then,  for  no  assignable  reason,  save 
a  whim,  compelled  to  sink  to  a  much  lower 
level?" 

"I  do  not  know.  I  never  disputed  aunty's 
right  to  do  wrhat  she  thought  best." 

"Well,  well,  it  is  odd.  Do  you  ever  entertain 
any  visitors?" 

"None  whatever.  We  have  no  acquaint- 
ances, and  live  very  quietly." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  your  aunt  never 


50         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

sees  any  one  but  yourself  and  casual  callers, 
such  as  tradespeople?" 

"So  far  as  I  know,  that  is  absolutely  the 
case." 

"Very  curious,"  commented  Steingall. 
"Does  your  aunt  go  out  much?" 

"She  leaves  the  house  occasionally  after  I 
have  gone  to  bed  at  ten  o'clock,  but  that  is  sel- 
dom, and  I  have  no  idea  where  she  goes.  Every 
week-day,  you  know,  I  am  away  from  home 
between  seven  in  the  morning  and  half  past  six 
at  night,  excepting  Saturday  afternoons.  If 
possible,  I  take  a  long  walk  before  going  to 
work. ' ' 

"Do  you  go  straight  home?" 

Winifred  remembered  Mr.  Fowle's  query, 
and  smiled  again. 

"Yes,"  she  said. 

"Now  last  night,  for  instance,  was  your  aunt 
at  home  when  you  reached  the  house  ? ' ' 

"No;  she  was  out.  She  did  not  come  in  until 
half  past  nine." 

"Did  she  go  out  again  last  night?" 

"I  do  not  know.  I  was  tired.  I  went  to  bed 
rather  early." 

Steingall  bent  over  his  notes  for  the  first  time 
since  Winifred  appeared.  His  lips  were  pursed, 
and  he  seemed  to  be  weighing  certain  facts 
gravely. 

"I  think,"  he  said  at  last,  "that  I  need  not 


FURTHER  SURPRISES  51 

detain  you  any  longer,  Miss  Bartlett.  By  the 
way,  I'll  give  you  a  note  to  your  employers  to 
say  that  you  are  in  no  way  connected  with  the 
crime  we  have  under  investigation.  It  may, 
perhaps,  save  you  needless  annoyance." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  girl.  "But  won't 
you  tell  me  why  you  have  asked  me  so  many 
questions  about  my  aunt  and  her  ways?" 

Steingall  looked  at  her  thoughtfully  before 
he  answered:  "In  the  first  place,  Miss  Bart- 
lett, tell  me  this.  I  assume  Miss  Craik  is  your 
mother's  sister.  When  did  your  mother 
die?" 

Winifred  blushed  with  almost  childish  dis- 
comfiture. "It  may  seem  very  stupid  to  say 
such  a  thing,"  she  admitted,  "but  I  have  never 
known  either  a  father  or  a  mother.  My  aunt 
has  always  refused  to  discuss  our  family  affairs 
in  any  way  whatever.  I  fear  her  view  is  that 
I  am  somewhat  lucky  to  be  alive  at  all." 

"Few  people  would  be  found  to  agree  with 
her,"  said  the  chief  gallantly.  "Now  I  want 
you  to  be  brave  and  patient.  A  very  extraor- 
dinary crime  has  been  committed,  and  the  police 
occasionally  find  clues  in  the  most  unexpected 
quarters.  I  regret  to  tell  you  that  Miss  Craik 
is  believed  to  be  in  some  way  connected  with 
the  mysterious  disappearance,  if  not  the  death, 
of  Mr.  Ronald  Tower,  and  she  is  being  held  for 
further  inquiries." 


52         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

Winifred's  face  blanched.  "Do  you  mean 
that  she  will  be  kept  in  prison?"  she  said,  with 
a  break  in  her  voice. 

"She  must  be  detained  for  a  while,  but  you 
need  not  be  so  alarmed.  Her  connection  with 
this  outrage  may  be  as  harmless  as  your  own, 
though  I  can  inform  you  that,  without  your 
knowledge,  your  house  last  night  certainly 
sheltered  two  men  under  grave  suspicion,  and 
for  whom  we  are  now  searching. ' ' 

"Two  men!  In  our  house!"  cried  the  amazed 
girl. 

"Yes.  I  tell  you  this  to  show  you  the  neces- 
sity there  is  for  calmness  and  reticence  on  your 
part.  Don't  speak  to  any  one  concerning  your 
visit  here.  Above  all  else,  don't  be  afraid.  Have 
you  any  one  with  whom  you  can  go  to  live  until 
Miss  Craik  is" — he  corrected  himself — "until 
matters  are  cleared  up  a  bit?" 

"No,"  wailed  Winifred,  her  pent-up  feelings 
breaking  through  all  restraint.  "I  am  quite 
alone  in  the  world  now." 

"Come,  come,  cheer  up!"  said  Steingall,  ris- 
ing and  patting  her  on  the  shoulder.  "This 
disagreeable  business  may  only  last  a  day  or 
two.  You  will  not  want  for  anything.  If  you 
are  in  any  trouble  all  you  need  do  is  to  let 
me  know.  Moreover,  to  save  you  from  being 
afraid  of  remaining  alone  in  the  house  at  night, 
I'll  give  special  instructions  to  the  police  in 


FURTHER  SURPRISES  53 

your  precinct  to  watch  the  place  closely.  Now, 
be  a  brave  girl  and  make  the  best  of  it." 

The  house  in  One  Hundred  and  Twelfth 
Street  would,  of  course,  be  an  object  of  special 
interest  to  the  police  for  other  reasons  apart 
from  those  suggested  by  the  chief.  Neverthe- 
less, his  kindness  had  the  desired  effect,  and 
"Winifred  strove  to  repress  her  tears. 

"Here  is  your  note,"  he  said,  "and  I  advise 
you  to  forget  this  temporary  trouble  in  your 
work.  Mr.  Clancy  will  accompany  you  in  the 
car  if  you  wish." 

"Please — I  would  rather  be  alone,"  she  fal- 
tered. She  was  far  from  Mulberry  Street  be- 
fore she-  remembered  that  she  had  said  nothing 
about  seeing  the  boat  that  morning ! 


CHAPTER  V 

PERSECUTORS 

DURING  the  brief  run  up-town  Winifred  man- 
aged to  dry  her  tears,  yet  the  mystery  and 
terror  of  the  circumstances  into  which  she  was 
so  suddenly  plunged  seemed  to  become  more 
distressful  the  longer  she  puzzled  over  them. 
She  could  not  find  any  outlet  from  a  labyrinth 
of  doubt  and  uncertainty.  She  strove  again  to 
read  the  printed  accounts  of  the  crime,  in  order 
to  wrest  from  them  some  explanation  of  the 
extraordinary  charge  brought  against  her  aunt, 
but  the  words  danced  before  her  eyes.  At  last, 
with  an  effort,  she  threw  the  paper  away  and 
bravely  resolved  to  follow  Steingall's  parting 
advice. 

When  she  reached  the  warehouse  she  was  nat- 
urally the  object  of  much  covert  observation. 
Neither  Miss  Sugg  nor  Mr.  Fowle  spoke  to  her, 
but  Winifred  thought  she  saw  a  malicious  smile 
on  the  forewoman's  face.  The  hours  passed 
wearily  until  six  o'clock.  She  was  about  to 
quit  the  building  with  her  companions — many 
of  whom  meant  bombarding  her  with  questions 

54 


PERSECUTORS  55 

at  the  first  opportunity — when  she  was  again 
requested  to  report  at  the  office. 

A  clerk  handed  her  one  of  the  firm's  pay 
envelopes. 

"What's  comin'  to  you  up  to  date,"  he 
blurted  out,  "and  a  week's  salary  instead  of 
notice." 

She  was  dismissed! 

Some  girls  might  have  collapsed  under  this 
final  blow,  but  not  so  Winifred  Bartletfe, 
Knowing  it  was  useless  to  say  anything  to  the 
clerk,  she  spiritedly  demanded  an  interview 
with  the  manager.  This  was  refused.  She  in- 
sisted, and  sent  Steingall's  letter  to  the  inner 
sanctum,  having  concluded  that  the  dismissal 
was  in  some  way  due  to  her  visit  to  the  detec- 
tive bureau. 

The  clerk  came  back  with  the  note  and  a  mes- 
sage: "The  lirm  desire  me  to  tell  you,"  he 
said,  "that  they  quite  accept  your  explanation, 
but  they  have  no  further  need  of  your  servi- 
ces." 

Explanation !  How  could  a  humble  employee 
explain  away  the  unsavory  fact  that  the  smug 
respectability  of  Brown,  Son  &  Brown  had  been 
outraged  by  the  name  of  the  firm  appearing  in 
the  evening  papers  as  connected,  even  in  the 
remotest  way,  with  the  sensational  crime  now 
engaging  the  attention  of  all  New  York? 

Winifred  walked  into  the  street.    Something 


56          THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

in  her  face  warned  even  the  most  inquisitive  of 
her  fellow-workers  to  leave  her  alone.  Besides, 
the  poor  always  evince  a  lively  sympathy  with 
others  in  misfortune.  These  working-class  girls 
were  consumed  with  curiosity,  yet  they  respect- 
ed Winifred's  feelings,  and  did  not  seek  to 
intrude  on  her  very  apparent  misery  by  inquiry 
or  sympathetic  condolence.  A  few  among  them 
watched,  and  even  followed  her  a  little  way  as 
she  turned  the  corner  into  Fourteenth  Street. 

"She  goes  home  by  the  Third  Avenue  L," 
said  Carlotta.  ' '  Sometimes  I've  walked  with  her 
that  far.  H'lo!  Why's  Fowle  goin'  east  in  a 
taxi!  He  lives  on  West  Seventeenth.  Betcher 
a  dime  he's  after  Winnie." 

"Whadda  ya  mean — after  her!"  cried  an- 
other girl. 

"Why,  didn't  you  hear  how  he  spoke  up  for 
her  this  mornin'  when  Ole  Mother  Sugg  handed 
her  the  lemon  about  bein'  late!" 

"But  he  got  her  fired." 

"G'wan!" 

"He  did,  I  tell  you.  I  heard  him  phonin*  a 
newspaper.  He  made  'em  wise  about  Winnie's 
bein'  pinched,  and  then  took  the  paper  to  the 
boss.  I  was  below  with  a  packin'  check  when 
he  went  in,  so  I  saw  that  with  my  own  eyes,  an' 
that's  just  as  far  as  I'd  trust  Fowle." 

The  cynic's  shrewd  surmise  was  strictly  ac- 
curate. Fowle  had,  indeed,  secured  Winifred's 


PERSECUTORS  57 

dismissal.  Her  beauty  and  disdain  had  stirred 
his  lewd  impulses  to  their  depths.  His  plan 
now  was  to  intercept  her  before  she  reached  her 
home,  and  pose  as  the  friend  in  need  who  is 
the  most  welcome  of  all  friends.  Knowing 
nothing  whatsoever  of  her  domestic  surround- 
ings he  deemed  it  advisable  to  make  inquiries 
on  the  spot.  His  crafty  and  vulpine  nature 
warned  him  against  running  his  head  into  a 
noose,  since  Winifred  might  own  a  strong- 
armed  father  or  brother,  but  no  one  could  pos- 
sibly resent  a  well-meant  effort  at  assistance. 

The  mere  sight  of  her  graceful  figure  as  she 
hurried  along  with  pale  face  and  downcast  eyes 
inflamed. him  anew  when  his  taxi  sped  by.  She 
could  not  avoid  him  now.  He  would  go  up-town 
by  an  earlier  train,  and  await  her  at  the  corner 
of  One  Hundred  and  Twelfth  Street. 

But  the  wariest  fox  is  apt  to  find  his  paw  in 
a  trap,  and  Fowle,  though  foxy,  was  by  no 
means  so  astute  as  he  imagined  himself.  Once 
again  that  day  Fate  was  preparing  a  surprise 
for  Winifred,  and  not  the  least  dramatic  feature 
thereof  connoted  the  utter  frustration  and 
undoing  of  Fowle. 

About  the  time  that  Winifred  caught  her 
train  it  befell  that  Bex  Carshaw,  gentleman  of 
leisure,  the  most  industrious  idler  who  ever 
extracted  dividends  from  a  business  he  cared 
little  about,  drove  a  high-powered  car  across 


58         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

the  Harlem  River  by  the  Willis  Avenue  Bridge, 
and  entered  that  part  of  Manhattan  which  lies 
opposite  Randall's  Island. 

This  was  a  new  world  to  the  eyes  of  the  young 
millionaire.  Nor  was  it  much  to  his  liking.  The 
mixed  citizenry  of  New  York  must  live  some- 
where, but  Carshaw  saw  no  reason  why  he  and 
his  dainty  car  should  loiter  in  a  district  which 
seemed  highly  popular  with  all  sorts  of  unde- 
sirable folks ;  so,  after  skirting  Thomas  Jeffer- 
son Park  he  turned  west,  meaning  to  reach  the 
better  roadway  and  more  open  stretches  of 
Fifth  Avenue. 

A  too  hasty  express  wagon,  however,  heed- 
less of  the  convenience  of  wealthy  automobil- 
ists,  bore  down  on  Carshaw  like  a  Juggernaut 
car,  and  straightway  smashed  the  differ- 
ential, besides  inflicting  other  grievous  injuries 
on  a  complex  mechanism.  A  policeman,  the 
proprietor  of  a  neighboring  garage,  and  a 
greatly  interested  crowd  provided  an  im- 
promptu jury  for  the  dispute  between  Carshaw 
and  the  express  man. 

The  latter  put  up  a  poor  case.  It  consisted 
almost  entirely  of  the  bitter  and  oft-repeated 
plaint : 

"What  was  a  car  like  that  doin'  here,  any- 
how I r' 

The  question  sounded  foolish.  It  was  nothing 
of  the  kind.  Only  the  Goddess  of  Wisdom 


could  have  answered  it,  and  she,  being  invisible, 
was  necessarily  dumb. 

At  last,  when  the  damaged  car  was  housed  for 
the  night,  Carshaw  set  out  to  walk  a  couple  of 
blocks  to  the  elevated  railway,  his  main  objec- 
tive being  dinner  with  his  mother  in  their  apart- 
ment on  Madison  Avenue.  He  found  himself 
in  a  comparatively  quiet  street,  wherein  blocks 
of  cheap  modern  flats  alternated  with  the  dingy 
middle-class  houses  of  a  by-gone  generation. 
He  halted  to  light  a  cigarette,  and,  at  that  mo- 
ment, a  girl  of  remarkable  beauty  passed,  walk- 
ing quickly,  yet  without  apparent  effort.  Sh« 
was  pallid  and  agitated,  and  her  eyes  were 
swimming  with  ill-repressed  tears. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Winifred  nearly  broke 
down  at  sight  of  her  empty  abode.  It  was  a 
cheerless  place  at  best,  and  now  the  thought  of 
being  left  there  alone  had  induced  a  sense  of 
feminine  helplessness  which  overcame  her 
utterly. 

Carshaw  was  distinctly  impressed.  In  the 
first  place,  he  was  young  and  good-looking,  and 
human  enough  to  try  and  steal  a  second  glance 
at  such  a  lovely  face,  though  the  steadily  de- 
creasing light  was  not  altogether  favorable. 
Secondly,  he  thought  he  had  .never  seen  any  girl 
who  carried  herself  with  such  rhythmic  grace. 
Thirdly,  here  was  a  woman  in  distress,  and,  to 
one  of  Carshaw 's  temperament  and  upbringing, 


60         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

that  in  itself  formed  a  convincing  reason  why 
he  should  wish  to  help  her. 

He  racked  his  brain  for  a  fitting  excuse  to 
offer  his  services.  He  could  find  none.  Above 
all  else,  Kex  Carshaw  was  a  gentleman. 

Of  course,  he  could  not  tell  that  the  way  was 
being  made  smooth  for  knight-errantry  by  a 
certain  dragon  named  Fowle.  He  did  not  even 
quicken  his  pace,  and  was  musing  on  the  curi- 
ous incongruity  of  the  maid  in  distress  with  the 
rather  squalid  district  in  which  she  had  her 
being  when  he  saw  a  man  bar  her  path. 

This  was  Fowle,  who,  with  lifted  hat,  was 
saying  deferentially:  ''Miss  Bartlett,  may  I 
have  a  word?" 

Winifred  stopped  as  though  she  had  run  into 
an  unseen  obstruction.  She  even  recoiled  a  step 
or  two. 

"What  do  you  want!'*  she  said,  and  there 
was  a  quality  of  scorn,  perhaps  of  fear,  in  her 
voice  that  sent  Carshaw,  now  five  yards  away, 
into  the  open  doorwajr  of  a  block  of  flats.  He 
was  an  impulsive  young  man.  He  liked  the 
girl's  face,  and  quite  as  fixedly  disliked 
Fowle 's.  So  he  adopted  the  now  world-famous 
policy  of  watchful  waiting,  being  not  devoid  of 
a  dim  belief  that  the  situation  might  evolve  an 
overt  act. 

"I  want  to  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am  for  what 
happened  to-day,"  said  Fowle,  trying  to  speak 


PERSECUTORS  61 

sympathetically,  but  not  troubling  to  veil  the 
bold  admiration  of  his  stare.  "I  tried  hard 
to  stop  unpleasantness,  and  even  risked  a  row 
with  the  boss.  But  it  was  no  use.  I  couldn't 
do  a  thing." 

"But  why  are  you  here?"  demanded  Wini- 
fred, and  those  sorrow-laden  eyes  of  hers 
might  have  won  pity  from  any  but  one  of 
Fowle's  order. 

"To  help,  of  course,"  came  the  ready  assur- 
ance. "I  can  get  you  a  far  better  job  than 
stitchin'  octavos  at  Brown's.  You're  not  mean- 
in'  to  stay  home  with  your  folks,  I  suppose?" 

"That  is  kind  of  you,"  said  Winifred.  "I 
may  have  to  depend  altogether  on  my  own 
efforts,  so  I  shall  need  work.  I'll  write  to  you 
for  a  reference,  and  perhaps  for  advice." 

She  had  unwittingly  told  Fowle  just  what 
he  was  eager  to  know — that  she  was  friendless 
and  alone.  He  prided  himself  on  understand- 
ing the  ways  of  women,  and  lost  no  more  time 
in  coming  to  the  point. 

"Listen,  now,  Winnie,"  he  said,  drawing 
nearer,  "I'd  like  to  see  you  through  this  worry. 
Forget  it.  You  can  draw  down  twice  or  three 
times  the  money  as  a  model  in  Goldberg's  Store. 
I  know  Goldberg,  an'  can  fix  things.  An',  say, 
why  mope  at  home  evenings  ?  I  often  get  orders 
for  two  for  the  theaters  an'  vaudeville  shows. 
What  about  comin'  along  down-town  to-night? 


62         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

A  bit  of  dinner  an'  a  cabaret  'd  cheer  you  up 
after  to-day's  unpleasantness." 

Winifred  grew  scarlet  with  vexation.  The 
man  had  always  been  a  repulsive  person  in  her 
eyes,  and,  unversed  though  she  was  in  the 
world's  wiles,  she  knew  instinctively  that  his 
present  pretensions  were  merely  a  cloak  for 
rascality.  One  should  be  fair  to  Winifred,  too. 
Like  every  other  girl,  she  had  pictured  the 
Prince  Charming  who  would  come  into  her  life 
some  day.  But — Fowle !  Her  gorge  rose. 

"How  dare  you  follow  me  here  and  say  such 
vile  things?"  she  cried  hysterically. 

"What's  up  now?"  said  Fowle  in  mock  sur- 
prise. "What  have  I  said  that  you  should  fly 
off  the  trolley  in  that  way?" 

"I  take  it  that  this  young  lady  is  telling  you 
to  quit,"  broke  in  another  voice.  "Go,  now! 
Go  while  the  going  is  good." 

Quietly  but  firmly  elbowing  Fowle  aside,  Rex 
Carshaw  raised  his  hat  and  spoke  to  Winifred. 

"If  this  fellow  is  annoying  you  he  can  soon 
be  dealt  with, "he  said.  "Do  you  live  near?  If 
so,  he  can  stop  right  here.  I'll  occupy  his  mind 
till  you  are  out  of  sight. ' ' 

The  discomfited  masher  was  snarling  like  a 
vicious  cur.  The  first  swift  glance  that  meas- 
ured the  intruder's  proportions  did  not  warrant 
any  display  of  active  resentment  on  his  part. 
Out  of  the  tail  of  his  eye,  however,  he  noticed 


PERSECUTORS  63 

a  policeman  approaching  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  street.  The  sight  lent  a  confidence  which 
might  have  been  lacking  otherwise. 

4 'Why  are  you  buttin'  in!"  he  cried  furi- 
ously. ''This  young  lady  is  a  friend  of  mine. 
I'm  try  in*  to  pull  her  out  of  a  difficulty,  but 
she's  got  me  all  wrong.  Anyhow,  what  busi- 
ness is  it  of  yours!" 

Fowle 's  anger  was  wasted,  since  Carshaw 
seemed  not  to  hear.  Indeed,  why  should  a 
chivalrous  young  man  pay  heed  to  Fowle 
when  he  could  gaze  his  fill  into  Winifred's 
limpid  eyes  and  listen  to  her  tuneful  voice? 

"I  am  very  greatly  obliged  to  you,"  she  was 
saying,  '"but  I  hope  Mr.  Fowle  understands 
now  that  I  do  not  desire  his  company  and  will 
not  seek  to  force  it  on  me." 

"Sure  he  understands.  Don't  you,  Fowle?" 
and  Carshaw  gave  the  disappointed  wooer  a 
look  of  such  manifest  purpose  that  something 
had  to  happen  quickly.  Something  did  happen. 
Fowle  knew  the  game  was  up,  and  behaved 
after  the  manner  of  his  kind. 

"You're  a  cute  little  thing,  Winifred  Bart- 
lett,"  he  sneered,  with  a  malicious  glance  from 
the  girl  to  Carshaw,  while  a  coarse  guffaw 
imparted  venom  to  his  utterance.  "Think 
you're  taking  an  easier  road  to  the  white  lights, 
I  guess?" 

"Guess  again,  Fowle,"  said  Carshaw. 


64         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

He  spoke  so  quietly  that  Fowle  was  misled, 
because  the  pavement  rose  and  struck  him  vio- 
lently on  the  back  of  his  head.  At  least,  that 
was  his  first  impression.  The  second  and  more 
lasting  one  was  even  more  disagreeable.  When 
he  sat  up,  and  fumbled  to  recover  his  hat,  he 
was  compelled  to  apply  a  handkerchief  to  his 
nose,  which  seemed  to  have  been  reduced  to  a 
pulp. 

"Too  bad  you  should  be  mixed  up  in  this  dis- 
turbance," Carshaw  was  assuring  Winifred, 
"but  a  pup  of  the  Fowle  species  can  be  taught 
manners  in  only  one  way.  Now,  suppose  you 
hurry  home ! '  ' 

The  advice  was  well  meant,  and  Winifred 
acted  on  it  at  once.  Fowle  had  scrambled  to 
his  feet  and  the  policeman  was  running  up. 
From  east  and  west  a  crowd  came  on  the  scene 
like  a  well-trained  stage  chorus  rushing  in  from 
the  wings. 

"Now,  then,  what's  the  trouble?"  demanded 
the  law,  with  gruff  insistency. 

"Nothing.  A  friend  of  mine  met  with  a 
slight  accident — that's  all,"  said  Carshaw. 

"It's — it's — all  right,"  agreed  Fowle  thickly. 
Some  glimmer  of  reason  warned  him  that  an 
expose  in  the  newspapers  would  cost  him  his 
job  with  Brown,  Son  &  Brown.  The  policeman 
eyed  the  damaged  nose.  He  grinned. 

"If  you  care  to  take  a  wallop  like  that  as  a 


PERSECUTORS  65 

friendly  tap  it's  your  affair,  not  mine,"  he  said. 
"Anyhow,  beat  it,  both  of  you!" 

Carshaw  was  not  interested  in  Fowle  or  the 
policeman.  He  had  been  vouchsafed  one 
expressive  look  by  Winifred  as  she  hurried 
away,  and  he  watched  the  slim  figure  darting 
up  half  a  dozen  steps  to  a  small  brown-stone 
house,  and  opening  the  door  with  a  latch-key. 
Oddly  enough,  the  policeman's  attention  was 
drawn  by  the  girl's  movements.  His  air 
changed  instantly. 

"H'lo,"  he  said,  evidently  picking  on  Fowle 
as  the  doubtful  one  of  these  two.  "This  must 
be  inquired  into.  "What's  your  name!" 

"No  matter.    I  make  no  charge." 

Fowle  was  turning  away,  but  the  policeman 
grabbed  him. 

"You  come  with  me  to  the  station-house," 
he  said  determinedly.  "An'  you,  too,"  he 
added  jerking  his  head  at  Carshaw. 

"Have  you  gone  crazy  with  the  heat?" 
inquired  Carshaw. 

"I  hold  you  for  fighting  in  the  public  street, 
an'  that's  all  there  is  to  it,"  was  the  firm  reply. 
"You  can  come  quietly  or  be  'cuffed,  just  as 
you  like.  Clear  off,  the  rest  of  you." 

An  awe-stricken  mob  backed  hastily.  Fowle 
was  too  dazed  even  to  protest,  and  Carshaw 
sensed  some  hidden  but  definite  motive  behind 
the  policeman's  strange  alternation  of  moods. 


66         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

He  locked  again  at  the  brown-stone  house,  but 
night  was  closing  in  so  rapidly  that  he  could  not 
distinguish  a  face  at  any  of  the  windows. 

"Let  us  get  there  quickly — I'll  be  late  for 
dinner,"  he  said,  and  the  three  returned  by  the 
way  Carshaw  had  come. 

Thus  it  was  that  Rex  Carshaw,  eligible 
young  society  bachelor,  was  drawn  into  the 
ever- widening  vortex  of  "The  Yacht  Mystery." 
He  did  not  recognize  it  yet,  but  was  destined 
soon  to  feel  the  force  of  its  swirling  currents. 

Gazing  from  a  window  of  the  otherwise 
deserted  house  Winifred  saw  both  her  assail- 
ant and  her  protector  marched  off  by  the  police- 
man. It  was  patent,  even  to  her  benumbed  wits, 
that  they  had  been  arrested.  The  tailing-in  of 
the  mob  behind  the  trio  told  her  as  much. 

She  was  too  stunned  to  do  other  than  sink 
into  a  chair.  For  a  while  she  feared  she  was 
going  to  faint.  With  lack-lustre  eyes  she  peered 
into  a  gulf  of  loneliness  and  despair.  Then  out- 
raged nature  came  to  her  aid,  and  she  burst  into 
a  storm  of  tears. 


CHAPTER  VI 

BKOTHEB  RALPH, 

CLANCY  forced  Senator  Meikle John's  hand 
early  in  the  fray.  He  was  at  the  Senator's 
flat  within  an  hour  of  the  time  Ronald  Tower 
was  dragged  into  the  Hudson,  but  a  smooth- 
spoken English  man-servant  assured  the  de- 
tective that  his  master  was  out,  and  not  ex- 
pected home  until  two  or  three  in  the  morning. 

This  arrangement  obviously  referred  to  the 
Van  Hofen  festivity,  so  Clancy  contented  him- 
self with  asking  the  valet  to  give  the  Senator  a 
card  on  which  he  scribbled  a  telephone  number 
and  the  words,  "Please  ring  up  when  you  get 
this." 

Now,  he  knew,  and  Senator  Meiklejohn  knew, 
the  theater  at  which  Mrs.  Tower  was  enjoying 
herself.  He  did  not  imagine  for  an  instant  that 
the  Senator  was  discharging  the  mournful  duty 
of  announcing  to  his  friend's  wife  the  lament- 
able fate  which  had  overtaken  her  husband. 
Merely  as  a  perfunctory  duty  he  went  to  the 
theater  and  sought  the  manager. 

"You  know  Mrs.  Ronald  Tower?"  he  said. 

67 


68         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 


"Sure  I  do,"  said  the  official.  "She's  inside 
now.  Came  here  with  Bobby  Forrest." 

"Anybody  called  for  her  recently1!" 

"I  think  not,  but  I'll  soon  find  out." 

No.  Mrs.  Tower's  appreciation  of  Belasco's 
genius  had  not  been  disturbed  that  evening. 

"Anything  wrong?"  inquired  the  manager. 

Clancy's  answer  was  ready. 

"If  Senator  Meiklejohn  comes  here  within 
half  an  hour,  see  that  the  lady  is  told  at  once," 
he  said.  "If  he  doesn't  show  up  in  that  time, 
send  for  Mr.  Forrest,  tell  him  that  Mr.  Tower 
has  met  with  an  accident,  and  leave  him  to  look 
after  the  lady." 

"Wow!    Is  it  serious!    Why  wait!" 

"The  slight  delay  won't  matter,  and  the  Sen- 
ator can  handle  the  situation  better  than  For- 
rest." 

Clancy  gave  some  telephonic  instruction  to 
the  man  on  night  duty  at  headquarters.  He 
even  dictated  a  paragraph  for  the  press.  Then 
he  went  straight  to  bed,  for  the  hardiest  detec- 
tives must  sleep,  and  he  had  a  full  day's  work' 
before  him  when  next  the  sun  rose  over  New 
York 

He  summed  up  Meiklejohn 's  action  cor- 
rectly. The  Senator  did  not  communicate  with 
Mulberry  Street  during  the  night,  so  Clancy 
was  an  early  visitor  at  his  apartment. 


BROTHER  RALPH  69 

"The  Senator  is  ill  and  can  see  no  one,"  said 
the  valet. 

"No  matter  how  ill  he  may  be,  he  must  see 
me,"  retorted  Clancy. 

"But  he  musn't  be  disturbed.  I  have  my 
orders." 

"Take  a  fresh  set.  He's  going  to  be  dis- 
turbed right  now,  by  you  or  me.  Choose 
quick!" 

The  law  prevailed.  A  few  minutes  later  Sen- 
ator Meiklejohn  entered  the  library  sitting- 
room,  where  the  little  detective  awaited  him. 
He  looked  wretchedly  ill,  but  his  sufferings 
were  mental,  not  physical.  Examined  critically 
now,  in  the  cold  light  of  day,  he  was  a  very  dif- 
ferent man  frotn  the  spruce,  dandified  politician 
and  financier  who  figured  so  prominently  among 
Van  Hofen's  guests  the  previous  evening.  Yet 
Clancy  saw  at  a  glance  that  the  Senator  was 
armed  at  all  points.  Diplomacy  would  be  use- 
less. The  situation  demanded  a  bludgeon.  He 
began  the  attack  at  once. 

"Why  didn't  you  ring  up  Mulberry  Street 
last  night,  Senator?"  he  said. 

"I  was  too  upset.    My  nerves  were  all  in." 

"You  told  the  patrolman  at  Eighty-Sixth 
Street  that  you  were  hurrying  away  to  break 
the  news  to  Mrs.  Tower,  yet  you  did  not  go  near 
her?" 


70         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

Meiklejolm  affected  to  consult  Clancy's  card 
to  ascertain  the  detective's  name. 

"Perhaps  I  had  better  get  in  touch  with  the 
Bureau  now,"  he  said,  and  a  flush  of  anger 
darkened  his  haggard  face. 

"No  need.  The  Bureau  is  right  here.  Let 
us  get  down  to  brass  tacks,  Senator.  A 
woman  named  Rachel  met  you  outside  the  Four 
Hundred  Club  at  eight  o'clock  as  you  were 
coming  out.  You  had  just  spoken  to  Mrs. 
Tower,  when  this  woman  told  you  that  you 
must  meet  two  men  who  would  ;t\vait  you  at  the 
Eighty-Sixth  landing-stage  at  nine.  You  were 
to  bring  five  hundred  dollars.  At  nine  o'clock 
these  same  men  killed  Mr.  Tower,  and  you 
yourself  admitted  to  me  that  they  mistook  him 
for  you.  Now,  will  you  be  good  enough  to  fill 
in  the  blanks'?  Who  is  Rachel?  Where  does 
she  live  I  Who  were  the  two  men  I  Why  should 
you  give  them  five  hundred  dollars,  apparently 
as  blackmail  V 

Clancy  was  exceedingly  disappointed  by  the 
result  of  this  thunderbolt.  Any  ordinary  man 
would  have  shrivelled  under  its  crushing  im- 
pact. If  the  police  knew  so  much  that  might  rea- 
sonably be  regarded  as  secret,  of  what  avail  was 
further  concealment?  Yet  Senator  Meiklejohn 
bore  up  wonderfully.  He  showed  surprise,  as 
well  he  might,  but  was  by  no  means  pulverized. 

"All   this    is    rather   marvelous,"   he   said 


BROTHER  RALPH  71 

slowly,  after  a  long  pause.  He  had  avoided 
Clancy's  gaze  after  the  first  few  words,  and 
sank  into  an  armchair  with  an  r.ir  of  weariness 
that  was  not  assumed. 

11  Simple  enough,"  commented  the  detective 
readily.  Above  all  else  he  wanted  Meiklejohn 
to  talk.  "I  was  on  duty  outside  the  club,  and 
heard  almost  every  word  that  passed  between 
you  and  liachel." 

1  'Well,  well." 

The  Senator  arose  and  pressed  an  electric 
bell.  - 

"If  you  don't  mind,"  he  explained  suavely, 
"I'll  order  some  coffee  and  rolls.  Will  you  join 
me?" 

This  was  the  parry  of  a  skilled  duelist  to 
divert  an  attack  and  gain  breathing-time. 
Clancy  rather  admired  such  adroitness. 

"Sorry,  I  can't  on  principle,"  he  countered. 

"How — on  principle?" 

"You  see,  Senator,  I  may  have  to  arrest  you, 
and  I  never  eat  with  any  man  with  whom  I  may 
clash  professionally." 

"You  take  risks,  Mr.  Clancy." 

"I  love  'em.  I'd  cut  my  job  to-day  if  it 
wasn't  for  the  occasional  excitement." 

The  valet  appeared. 

"Coffee  and  rolls  for  two,  Phillips,"  said 
Meiklejohn.  He  turned  to  Clancy.  "Perhaps 
you  would  prefer  toast  and  an  egg?" 


72         THE  BAETLETT  MYSTERY 

"I  haWe  breakfasted  already,  Senator," 
smiled  the  detective,  "but  I  may  dally  with  the 
coffee." 

When  the  door  was  closed  on  Phillips,  his 
master  glanced  at  a  clock  on  the  mantelpiece. 
The  hour  was  eight-fifteen.  Some  days  elapsed 
before  Clancy  interpreted  that  incident  cor- 
rectly. 

"You  rose  early,"  said  the  Senator. 

"Yes,  but  worms  are  coy  this  morning." 

"Meaning  that  you  still  await  answers  to 
your  questions.  I'll  deal  with  you  fully  and 
frankly,  but  I'm  curious  to  know  on  what  con- 
ceivable ground  you  could  arrest  me  for  the 
murder  of  my  friend  Ronald  Tower." 

"As  an  accessory  before  the  act." 

"But,  consider.  You  have  brains,  Mr. 
Clancy.  I  am  glad  the  Bureau  sent  such  a  man. 
How  can  a  bit  of  unthinking  generosity  on  my 
part  be  construed  as  participation  in  a  crime?" 

"If  you  explain  matters,  Senator,  the  absur- 
dity of  the  notion  may  become  clear." 

"Ah,  that's  better.  Let  me  assure  you  that 
my  coffee  will  not  affect  your  fine  sensibilities. 
Miss  Rachel  Craik  is  a  lady  I  have  known 
nearly  all  my  life.  I  have  assisted  her,  within 
my  means.  She  resides  in  East  One  Hundred 
and  Twelfth  Street,  and  the  man  about  whom 
she  was  so  concerned  last  night  is  her  brother. 
He  committed  some  technical  offense  years  ago, 


BROTHER  RALPH  73 

and  has  always  been  a  ne'er-do-well.  To  please 
his  sister,  and  for  no  other  reason,  I  undertook 
to  provide  him  with  five  hundred  dollars,  and 
thus  enable  him  to  start  life  anew.  I  have  never 
met  the  man.  I  would  not  recognize  him  if  I 
saw  him.  I  believe  he  is  a  desperate  character ; 
his  maniacal  behavior  last  night  seems  to  leave 
no  room  for  doubt  in  that  respect.  Don't  you 
see,  Mr.  Clancy,  that  it  was  I,  and  not  poor 
Tower,  whom  he  meant  attacking?  But  for  idle 
chance,  it  is  my  corpse,  not  Tower's,  that  would 
now  be  floating  in  the  Hudson.  You  heard  what 
Tower  said.  I  did  not.  I  assume,  however, 
that  some  allusion  was  made  to  the  money— 
which,  by  the  way,  is  still  in  my  pocketbook— 
and  Tower  scoffed  at  the  notion  that  he  had 
come  there  to  hand  over  five  hundred  dollars. 
There  you  have  the  whole  story,  in  so  far  as 
I  can  tell  it." 

"For  the  present,  Senator. 

"How?" 

"It  should  yield  many  more  chapters.  Is  that 
all  you're  going  to  say?  For  instance,  did  you 
call  on  Rachel  Craik  after  leaving  Eighty-Sixth 
Street?" 

Meikle John's  jaws  closed  like  a  steel  trap. 
He  almost  lost  his  temper. 

"No,"  he  said,  seemingly  conquering  the 
desire  to  blaze  into  anger  at  this  gadfly  of  a 
detective. 


74         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

''Sure?" 

"I  said  'no.'  That  is  not  'yes.'  I  was  so 
overcome  by  Tower's  miserable  fate  that  I  dis- 
missed my  car  and  walked  home.  I  could  not 
face  any  one,  least  of  all  Helen — Mrs.  Tower." 

"Or  the  Bureau?" 

"Mr.  Clancy,  you  annoy  me." 

Clancy  stood  up. 

"I  must  duck  your  coffee,  Senator,"  he  said 
cheerfully.  "Is  Miss  Craik  on  the  phone?" 

"No.  She  is  poor,  and  lives  alone — or,  to  be 
correct,  with  a  niece,  I  believe. ' ' 

"Well,  think  matters  over.  I'll  see  you  again 
soon.  Then  you  may  be  able  to  tell  me  some 
more." 

"I  have  told  you  everything." 

"Perhaps  7  may  do  the  telling." 

"Now,  as  to  this  poor  woman,  Miss  Craik. 
You  will  not  adopt  harsh  measures,  I  trust?" 

"We  are  never  harsh,  Senator.  If  she  speaks 
the  truth,  and  all  the  truth,  she  need  not  fear." 

In  the  hall  Clancy  met  the  valet,  carrying  a 
laden  tray. 

"Do  you  make  good  coffee,  Phillips'?"  he 
inquired. 

"I  try  to,"  smiled  the  other. 

"Ah,  that's  modest — that's  the  way  real 
genius  speaks.  Sorry  I  can't  sample  your  brew 
^to-day.  So  few  Englishmen  know  the  first 
thing  about  coffee." 


BROTHER  RALPH  75 

"Nice,  friendly  little  chap,"  was  Phillips 's 
opinion  of  the  detective.  Senator  Meikle John's 
description  of  the  same  person  was  widely  dif- 
ferent. When  Clancy  went  out,  he,  too,  rose  and 
stretched  his  stiff  limbs. 

"I  got  rid  of  that  little  rat  more  easily  than 
I  expected,"  he  mused — that  is  to  say,  the  Sen- 
ator's thoughts  may  be  estimated  in  some  such 
phrase.  But  he  was  grievously  mistaken  in  his 
belief.  Clancy  was  no  rat,  but  a  most  stubborn 
terrier  when  there  were  rats  around. 

While  Meiklejohn  was  drinking  his  coffee  the 
telephone  rang.  It  was  Mrs.  Tower.  She  was 
heartbroken,  or  professed  to  be,  since  no  more 
selfish  woman  existed  in  New  York. 

"Are  you  coming  to  see  me!"  she  wailed. 

"Yes,  yes,  later  in  the  day.  At  present  I 
dare  not.  I  am  too  unhinged.  Oh,  Helen,  what 
a  tragedy!  Have  you  any  news?" 

"News!  My  God!  What  news  can  I  hope  for 
except  that  Ronald's  poor,  maimed  body  has 
been  found?" 

"Helen,  this  is  terrible.    Bear  up!" 

"I'm  doing  my  best.  I  can  hardly  believe 
that  this  thing  has  really  happened.  Help  me 
in  one  small  way,  Senator.  Telephone  Mr. 
Jacob  and  explain  why  our  luncheon  is  post- 
poned." 

"Yes,  I'll  do  that." 

Meiklejohn  smiled  grimly  as  he  hung  up  the 


76         THE  BAETLETT  MYSTERY 

receiver.  In  the  midst  of  her  tribulations 
Helen  Tower  had  not  forgotten  Jacob  and  the 
little  business  of  the  Costa  Rica  Cotton  Conces- 
sion! The  luncheon  was  only  "postponed." 

An  inquiry  came  from  a  newspaper,  where- 
upon he  gave  a  curt  order  that  no  more  calls 
were  to  be  made  that  day,  as  the  apartment 
would  be  empty.  He  dressed,  and  devoted  him- 
self forthwith  to  the  task  of  overhauling  papers. 
He  had  a  fire  kindled  in  the  library. 

Hour  after  hour  he  worked,  until  the  grate 
was  littered  with  the  ashes  of  destroyed  docu- 
ments. Sending  for  newspapers,  he  read 
of  Rachel  Craik's  arrest.  At  last,  when  the 
light  waned,  he  looked  at  his  watch.  Should  he 
not  face  his  fellow-members  at  the  Four  Hun- 
dred Club  I  Would  it  not  betray  weakness  to 
shirk  the  ordeal  of  inquiry,  of  friendly  scrutiny 
and  half-spoken  wonder  that  he,  the  irreproach- 
able, should  be  mixed  up  in  such  a  weird 
tragedy.  Once  he  sought  support  from  a  decan- 
ter of  brandy. 

' 'Confound  it!"  he  muttered,  "why  am  I  so 
shaky.  I  didn't  murder  Tower.  My  whole  life 
may  be  ruined  by  one  false  step!" 

He  was  still  pondering  irresolutely  a  visit  to 
the  club  when  Phillips  came.  The  valet  seemed 
flurried. 

"There's  a  gentleman  outside,  sir,  who 
insists  on  seeing  you,"  he  said  nervously. 


BROTHER  RALPH  77 

"He's  a  very  violent  gentleman,  sir.  He  said 
if  I  didn't  announce  him  he " 

"What  name!"  interrupted  Meiklejohn. 

"Name  of  Voles,  sir." 

"Voles?" 

"Yes,  sir,  but  he  says  you'll  recognize  him 
better  by  the  initials  R.  V.  V." 

Men  of  Meikle John's  physique — big,  fleshy, 
with  the  stamp  of  success  on  them — are  rare 
subjects  for  nervous  attacks.  They  seem  to 
defy  events  which  will  shock  the  color  out  of 
ordinary  men's  cheeks,  yet  Meikle  John  felt  that 
if  he  dared  encounter  the  eyes  of  his  discreet 
servant  he  would  do  something  outrageous — 
shriek,  or  jump,  or  tear  his  hair.  He  bent  over 
some  papers  on  the  table. 

"Send  Mr.  Voles  in,"  he  murmured.  "If  any 
other  person  calls,  say  I'm  engaged." 

The  man  who  was  ushered  into  the  room  was 
of  a  stature  and  demeanor  which  might  well 
have  cowed  the  valet.  Tall,  strongly  built,  alto- 
gether fitter  and  more  muscular  than  the  stal- 
wart Senator,  he  carried  with  him  an  impres- 
sion of  truculence,  of  a  savage  forcefulness,  not 
often  clothed  in  the  staid  garments  of  city  life. 
Were  his  skin  bronze,  were  he  decked  in  the  bar- 
baric trappings  of  a  Pawnee  chief,  his  appear- 
ance would  be  more  in  accord  with  the  chill  and 
repellant  significance  of  his  personality.  His 
square,  hard  features  might  have  been  chiseled 


78 

out  of  granite.  A  pair  of  singularly  dark  eyes 
blazed  beneath  heavy  and  prominent  eyebrows. 
A  high  forehead,  a  massive  chin,  and  a  well- 
shaped  nose  lent  a  certain  intellectuality  to  the 
face,  but  this  attribute  was  negatived  by  the 
coarse  lines  of  a  brutal  mouth. 

From  any  point  of  view  the  visitor  must 
invite  attention,  while  compelling  dislike — even 
fear.  In  a  smaller  frame,  such  qualities  might 
escape  recognition,  but  this  man's  giant  phy- 
sique accentuated  the  evil  aspect  of  eyes  and 
mouth.  Hardly  waiting  till  the  door  was  closed, 
he  laughed  sarcastically. 

"You  are  well  fixed  here,  brother  o'  mine," 
he  said. 

The  man  whom  he  addressed  as  "brother" 
leaned  with  his  hands  on  the  table  that  sepa- 
rated them.  His  face  \vas  quite  ghastly.  All 
his  self-control  seemed  to  have  deserted  him. 

"You?"  he  gasped.  "To  come  here!  Are 
you  mad?" 

"Need  you  ask?  It  will  not  be  the  first  time 
you  have  called  me  a  lunatic,  nor  will  it  be  the 
last,  I  reckon." 

"But  the  risk,  the  infernal  risk!  The  police 
know  of  you.  Rachel  is  arrested.  A  detective 
was  here  a  few  hours  ago.  They  are  probably 
watching  outside." 

"Bosh!"  was  the  uncompromising  answer. 
"Fm  sick  of  being  hunted.  Just  for  a  change 


BROTHER  RALPH  79 

I  turn  hunter.  Where 's  the  mazuma  you  prom- 
ised Rachel!" 

Meiklejohn,  using  a  hand  like  one  in  a  palsy, 
produced  a  pocketbook  and  took  from  it  a  bun- 
dle of  notes. 

"Here!"  he  quavered.  "Now,  for  Heaven's 
sake — — " 

"Just  the  same  old  William,"  cried  the 
stranger,  seating  himself  unceremoniously. 
"Always  ready  to  do  a  steal,  but  terrified  lest 
the  law  should  grab  him.  No,  I'm  not  going. 
It  will  be  good  nerve  tonic  for  you  to  sit  down 
and  talk  while  you  strain  your  ears  to  hear  the 
tramp  of  half  a  dozen  cops  in  the  hall.  What  a 
poor  fish  you  are!"  he  continued,  voice  and 
manner  revealing  a  candid  contempt,  as  Meik- 
lejohn did  indeed  start  at  the  slamming  of  a 
door  somewhere  in  the  building.  "Do  you  think 
I'd  risk  my  neck  if  I  were  likely  to  be  pinched? 
Gad !  I  know  my  way  around  too  well  for  that." 

"But  you  don't  understand,"  whispered  the 
other  in  mortal  terror.  "By  some  means  the 
detective  bureau  may  know  of  your  existence. 
Rachel  promised  to  be  close-lipped,  but— 

1  '  Oh,  take  a  bracer  out  of  that  decanter.  At 
the  present  moment  I  am  registered  in  a  big 
Fifth  Avenue  hotel,  a  swell  joint  which  they 
wouldn't  suspect  in  twenty  years." 

'  *  How  can  that  be  T  Rachel  said  you  were  in 
desperate  need." 


80         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

"So  I  was  until  I  went  through  that  idiot's 
pockets.  He  had  two  hundred  dollars  in  bills 
and  chicken-feed.  I  knew  I'd  get  another  wad 
from  you  to-night." 

"Why  did  you  want  to  murder  me,  Ralph?'* 
•  "Murder!  Oh,  shucks!  I  didn't  want  to  kill 
anybody.  But  I  don't  trust  you,  William.  I'm 
always  expecting  you  to  double-cross  me.  Last 
night  it  was  a  lasso.  To-night  it  is  this."  And 
he  suddenly  whipped  out  a  revolver. 


CHAPTER  VII 

STILL  MERE  MYSTERY 

MEIKLEJOHN  pushed  his  chair  back  so  quickly 
that  it  caught  the  fender  and  brought  down 
some  fire-irons  with  a  crash. 

"More  nerves!"  croaked  his  grim-visaged 
relative,  but  the  revolver  disappeared. 

"Tell  me,"  said  the  tortured  Meiklejohn; 
"why  have  you  returned  to  New  York?  Above 
all,  why  did  you  straightway  commit  a  crime 
that  cannot  fail  to  stir  the  whole  country?" 

"That's  better.  You  are  showing  some  sort 
of  brotherly  interest.  I  came  back  because  I 
was  sick  of  mining  camps  and  boundless  sier- 
ras. I  had  a  hankering  after  the  old  life — the 
theaters,  dinners,  race-meetings,  wine  and 
women.  As  to  'the  crime,'  I  thought  that  fool 
was  you.  He  called  for  the  cops." 

"For  the  police!    Why?" 

"Because  my  line  of  talk  was  a  trifle  too 
rough,  I  suppose." 

"Did  he  know  you  were  there  to  meet  me?" 

"•Can't  say.  The  whole  thing  was  over  like 
a  flash.  I  am  quick  on  the  trigger." 

81 


82         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

"But  if  you  had  killed  me  what  other  goose 
would  lay  golden  eggs?" 

"You  forget  that  the  goose  was  unwilling  to 
lay  any  more  eggs.  I  only  meant  scaring  you. 
To  haul  you  neck  and  crop  into  the  river  was 
a  good  scheme.  You  see,  we  haven't  met  for 
some  years." 

"Then  why — why  murder  Eonald  Tower?" 

"There  you  go  again.  Murder!  How  you 
chew  on  the  \vord.  I  never  touched  the  man, 
only  to  haul  him  into  the  boat  and  go  through 
his  pockets.  I  guess  he  had  a  weak  heart,  due 
to  over-eating,  and  the  cold  water  upset  him." 

"But  you  left  him  in  the  river?" 

"Wrong  every  time.  I  chucked  him  into  a 
barge  and  covered  him  tenderly  with  a  tarpau- 
lin." 

Meiklejohn  sprang  upright.  "Good  God," 
he  cried,  "he  may  be  alive!" 

"Sit  down,  William,  sit  down,"  was  the  cool 
response.  "If  he's  alive,  he'll  turn  up.  In  any 
case,  he'll  be  found  sooner  or  later.  Shout  the 
glad  news  now  and  you  go  straight  to  the 
Tombs." 

This  was  obviously  so  true  that  the  Senator 
collapsed  into  his  chair  again,  and  in  so  doing 
disturbed  the  fire-irons  a  second  time. 

The  incident  amused  the  unbidden  guest.  "I 
see  you  won't  be  happy  till  I  leave  you,"  he 
laughed,  "so  let's  go  on  with  the  knitting.  That 


STILL  MERE  MYSTERY  83 

girl — she  is  becoming  a  woman — what  is  to  be 
done  with  her?" 

"Bachel  takes  every  care — " 

"  Rachel  is  excellent  in  her  way.  But  she  is 
growing  old.  She  may  die.  The  girl  is  the 
living  image  of  her  mother.  It's  a  queer  world, 
and  a  small  one  at  times.  For  instance,  who 
would  have  expected  your  double  to  walk  onto 
the  terrace  at  the  landing-stage  at  nine  o'clock 
precisely  last  night!  Well,  some  one  may  rec- 
ognize the  likeness.  Inquiries  might  be  insti- 
tuted. That  would  be  very  awkward  for 
you." 

"Far  more  awkward  for  you." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  I've  lived  with  my  neck  in 
the  loop  for  eighteen  years.  I'm  getting  used 
to  it.  But  you,  William,  with  your  Senatorship 
and  high  record  in  Wall  Street — really  the 
downfall  would  be  terrible!" 

"What  can  we  do  with  her?  Murder  her,  as 
you — " 

"The  devil  take  you  and  your  parrotlike  rep- 
etition of  one  word!"  roared  brother  Ralph, 
bringing  his  clenched  fist  down  on  the  table 
with  a  bang.  "I  never  laid  violent  hands  on  a 
woman  yet,  whatever  I  may  have  done  to  men. 
Who  has  reaped  the  reward  of  my  misdeeds, 
I'd  like  to  know — I,  an  outcast  and  a  wanderer, 
or  you,  living  here  like  Lord  Tomnoddy?  None 
of  your  preaching  to  me,  you  smug  Pharisee! 


84         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

We're  six  of  one  and  half  a  dozen  of  the 
other." 

When  this  self-proclaimed  adventurer  was 
really  aroused  he  dropped  the  rough  argot  of 
the  plains.  His  diction  showed  even  some 
measure  of  culture. 

Meiklejohn  walked  unsteadily  to  the  door. 
He  opened  it.  There  was  no  one  in  the  passage 
without. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said  in  a  strangely  subdued 
voice.  "What  do  you  want?  What  do  you  sug- 
gest?" 

"This,"  came  the  instant  reply.  "It  was  a 
piece  of  folly  on  Rachel's  part  to  educate  the 
girl  the  way  she  did.  You  stopped  the  process 
too  late.  In  a  year  or  two  Miss  Winifred  will 
begin  to  think  and  ask  questions,  if  she  hasn't 
done  so  already.  She  must  leave  the  East — 
better  quit  America  altogether." 

"Very  well.  When  this  affair  of  Tower's 
blows  over  I'll  arrange  it." 

The  other  man  seemed  to  be  somewhat  mol- 
lified. He  lighted  a  cigarette.  "That  rope 
play  was  sure  a  mad  trick,"  he  conceded  sul- 
lenly, "but  I  thought  you  were  putting  the  cops 
on  my  trail." 

A  bell  rang  and  the  Senator  started.  Many 
callers,  mostly  reporters,  had  been  turned  away 
by  Phillips  already  that  day,  but  brother 
Ralph's  untimely  visit  had  made  the  position 


STILL  MERE  MYSTERY  85 

peculiarly  dangerous.  Moreover,  the  valet's 
protests  had  proved  unavailing  this  time.  The 
two  heard  his  approaching  footsteps. 

Meiklejohn's  care-worn  face  turned  almost 
green  with  fright,  and  even  his  hardier  com- 
panion yielded  to  a  sense  of  peril.  He  leaped 
up,  moving  catlike  on  his  toes. 

" Where  does  that  door  lead  to!"  he  hissed, 
pointing. 

"A  bedroom.   But  I've  given  orders — " 

"You  dough-faced  dub,  don't  you  see  you 
create  suspicion  by  refusing  to  meet  people? 
And,  listen!  If  this  is  a  cop,  bluff  hard!  I'll 
shoot  up  the  whole  Bureau  before  they  get 
me!" 

He  vanished,  moving  with  a  silence  and  celer- 
ity that  were  almost  uncanny  in  so  huge  a 
man.  Phillips  knocked  and  thrust  his  head  in. 
He  looked  scared  yet  profoundly  relieved. 

"Mr.  Tower  to  see  you,  sir,"  he  said  breath- 
lessly. 

"What?"  shrieked  the  Senator  in  a  shrill 
falsetto. 

"Yes,  sir.    It's  Mr.  Tower  himself,  sir." 

"H'lo,  Bill!"  came  a  familiar  voice.  "Here 
I  am !  No  spook  yet,  thank  goodness ! ' ' 

Meiklejohn  literally  staggered  to  the  door 
and  nearly  fell  into  Ronald  Tower's  arms.  Of 
the  two  men,  the  Senator  seemed  nearer  death 
at  that  moment.  He  blubbered  something  in- 


86         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

coherent,  and  had  to  be  assisted  to  a  chair. 
Even  Tower  was  astonished  at  the  evident 
depth  of  his  friend's  emotion. 

"Cheer  up,  old  sport!"  he  cried  affection- 
ately. "I  had  no  notion  you  felt  so  badly  about 
my  untimety  end,  as  the  newspapers  call  it.  I 
tried  to  get  you  on  the  phone,  but  you  were 
closed  down,  the  exchange  said,  so  Helen 
packed  me  off  here  when  she  was  able  to  sit 
up  and  take  nourishment.  Gad  I  Even  my  wife 
seems  to  have  missed  mel" 

Many  minutes  elapsed  before  Senator  Meik- 
le John's  benumbed  brain  could  assimilate  the 
facts  of  a  truly  extraordinary  story.  Tower, 
after  being  whisked  so  unceremoniously  into 
the  Hudson,  remembered  nothing  further  until 
he  opened  his  eyes  in  numb  semi-consciousness 
in  the  cubbyhole  of  a  tug  plodding  through  the 
long  Atlantic  rollers  off  the  New  Jersey  coast. 

When  able  to  talk  he  learned  that  the  captain 
of  the  tug  Cygnet,  having  received  orders  to 
tow  three  loaded  barges  from  a  Weehawken 
pier  to  Barnegat  City,  picked  up  his  "job"  at 
nine-thirty  the  previous  night,  and  dropped 
down  the  river  with  the  tide.  In  the  early 
morning  he  was  amazed  by  the  sight  of  a  man 
crawling  from  under  the  heavy  tarpaulin  that 
sheeted  one  of  the  barges — a  man  so  dazed  and 
weak  that  he  nearly  fell  into  the  sea. 

"Cap'   Kickards   slowed  up   and   took  me 


'STILL  MERE  MYSTERY  87 

aboard,"  explained  Tower  volubly.  "Then  he 
filled  me  with  rock  and  rye  and  packed  nie  in 
blankets.  Gee,  how  they  smelt,  but  how  grate- 
ful they  were !  What  between  prime  old  whis- 
key inside  and  greasy  wool  outside  I  dodged 
a  probable  attack  of  pneumonia.  When  the 
Cygnet  tied  up  at  Barnegat  at  noon  to-day  I 
was  fit  as  a  fiddle.  Cap'  Rickards  rigged  me 
out  in  his  shore-going  suit  and  lent  me  twenty 
dollars,  as  that  pair  of  blackguards  in  the 
launch  had  robbed  me  of  every  cent.  They 
even  took  a  crooked  sixpence  I  found  in  Lon- 
don twenty  years  ago,  darn  'em!  I  phoned 
Helen,  of  course,  but  didn't  realize  what  a  hub- 
bub my  sad  fate  had  created  until  I  read  a 
newspaper  in  the  train.  When  I  reached  home 
poor  Helen  was  so  out  of  gear  that  she  hadn't 
told  a  soul  of  my  escape.  I  do  believe  she 
hardly  accepted  my  own  assurance  that  I  was 
still  on  the  map.  However,  when  I  got  her 
calmed  down  a  bit,  she  remembered  you  and 
the  rest  of  the  excitement,  so  I  phoned  the 
detective  bureau  and  the  club,  and  came 
straight  here." 

"That  is  very  good  of  you,  Tower,"  mur- 
mured Meiklejohn  brokenly.  He  looked  in  far 
worse  plight  than  the  man  who  had  survived 
such  a  desperate  adventure. 

"Well,  my  dear  chap,  I  was  naturally  anx- 
ious to  see  you,  because — but  perhaps  you  don't 


88         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

know  that  those  scoundrels  meant  to  attack  you, 
not  me?" 

Meiklejolm  smiled  wanly.  * '  Oh,  yes, ' '  he  said. 
''The  police  found  that  out  by  some  means.  I 
believe  the  authorities  actually  suspected  me  of 
being  concerned  in  the  affair." 

Tower  laughed  boisterously.  "That's  the 
limit!"  he  roared.  "Come  with  me  to  the  club. 
We'll  soon  spoil  that  yarn.  What  a  fuss  the 
papers  made !  I  'm  quite  a  celebrity. ' ' 

"I'll  follow  you  in  half  an  hour.  And,  look 
here,  Tower,  this  matter  did  really  affect  me. 
There  was  a  woman  in  the  case.  I  butted  into 
an  old  feud  merely  as  a  friend.  I  think  matters 
will  now  be  settled  amicably.  Allow  me  to  make 
good  your  loss  in  every  way.  If  you  can  per- 
suade the  police  that  the  whole  thing  was  a 
hoax — " 

For  the  first  time  Tower  looked  non-plussed. 
He  was  enjoying  the  notoriety  thrust  on  him 
so  unexpectedly. 

1 ' Well,  I  can  hardly  do  that, ' '  he  said.  "But 
if  I  can  get  them  to  drop  further  inquiries  I'll 
do  it,  Meiklejohn,  for  your  sake.  Gee-!  Come 
to  look  at  you,  you  must  have  had  a  bad  time. 
.  .  .  Well,  good-by,  old  top!  See  you  later. 
Suppose  we  dine  together?  That  will  help  dis- 
sipate this  queer  story  as  to  you  being  mixed  up 
in  an  attack  on  me.  Now,  I  must  be  off  and  play 
ghost  in  the  club  smoking-room." 


STILL  MERE  MYSTERY  89 

Meiklejobn  heard  his  fluttering  man-servant 
let  Tower  out.  He  tottered  to  a  chair,  and  Ralph 
Voles  came  in  noiselessly. 

"Well,  what  about  it?"  chuckled  the  repro- 
bate. "We  seem  to  have  struck  it  lucky." 

"Go  away!"  snarled  the  Senator,  goaded  to 
a  sudden  rage  by  the  other  man 's  cynical  humor. 
"I  can  stand  no  more  to-day." 

"Oh,  take  a  pull  at  this !"  And  the  decanter 
was  pushed  across  the  table.  "  Didn't  Dr.  John- 
son once  say  that  claret  is  the  liquor  for  boys, 
port  for  men,  but  he  who  aspires  to  be  a  hero 
should  drink  brandy?  And  you  must  be  a  hero 
to-night.  Get  onto  the  Bureau  and  use  the  soft 
pedal.  Then  beat  it  to  the  club.  You  and  Tov.or 
ought  to  be  well  soused  in  an  hour.  He 's  a  good 
sport,  all  right.  I'll  mail  him  that  sixpence  if 
it 's  still  in  my  pants. ' ' 

"Do  nothing  of  the  sort!"  snapped  Meikle- 
john.  "You're — " 

"Ah,  cut  it  out!  Tower  wants  plenty  to  talk 
about.  His  crooked  sixpence  will  fill  many  an 
eye,  and  the  more  he  spiels  tLe  better  it  is  for 
you.  Gee,  but  you're  yellow  for  a  two-hundred 
pounder !  Now,  listen !  Make  those  cops  drop 
all  charges  against  Rachel.  Then,  in  a  week  or 
less,  I'll  come  along  and  fix  things  about  the 
girl.  She's  the  fly  in  the  amber  now.  Mind 
she  doesn't  get  out,  or  the  howl  about  Mr.  Ron- 
ald Tower's  trip  to  Barnegat  won't  amount  to 


90         THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

a  row  of  beans  against  the  trouble  pretty  Wini- 
fred can  give  you.  Dios!  It's  a  pity.  She's  a 
real  beauty,  and  that's  more  than  any  one  can 
say  for  you,  Brother  William." 

"You  go  to—" 

" That's  better!  You're  reviving.  Well, 
good-by,  Senator!  Au  revoir  sans  adieux!" 

The  big  man  swaggered  out.  Meiklejohn 
drank  no  spirits.  He  needed  a  clear  brain  that 
evening.  After  deep  self-communing  he  rang  up 
police  headquarters  and  inquired  for  Mr. 
Clancy. 

"Mr.  Clancy  is  out,"  he  was  told  by  some 
one  with  a  strong,  resonant  voice.  "Anything 
we  can  do,  Senator?" 

"About  that  poor  woman,  Eachel  Craik — " 

"Oh,  she's  all  right !  She  gave  us  a  farewell 
smile  two  hours  ago." 

"You  mean  she  is  at  liberty?" 

"Certainly,  Senator." 

"May  I  ask  to  whom  I  am  speaking1?" 

"Steingall,  Chief  of  the  Bureau." 

"This  wretched  affair — it's  merely  a  family 
squabble  between  Miss  Craik  and  a  relative — 
might  well  end  now,  Mr.  Steingall." 

"That  is  for  Mr.  Tower  and  Mr.  Van  Hofen 
to  decide." 

"Yes,  I  quite  understand.  I  have  seen  Mr. 
Tower,  and  he  shares  my  opinion." 


STILL  MERE  MYSTERY  9i 

so,  Senator.    At  any  rate,  the  yacht 
mystery  is  almost  cleared  up." 
"I  agree  with  you  most  heartily." 
For  the  first  time  in  nearly  twenty-four  hours 
Senator  Meiklejohn  looked  contented  with  life 
when  he  hung  up  the  receiver.     Therefore,  it 
was  well  for  his  peace  of  mind  that  he  could  not 
hear  Steingall's  silent  comment  as  he,  in  turn, 
disconnected  the  phone. 

' 'That  old  fox  agreed  with  me  too  heartily," 
he  thought.  "The  yacht  mystery  is  only  just 
beginning — or  I'm  a  Dutchman!" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   DBEAM   FACE 

THAT  evening  of  her  dismissal  from  Brown's, 
and  her  meeting  with  Rex  Carshaw,  Winifred 
opened  the  door  of  the  dun  house  in  One  Hun- 
dred and  Twelfth  Street  the  most  downhearted 
girl  in  New  York.  Suddenly,  mystery  had  gath- 
ered round  her.  Something  threatened,  she 
knew  not  what.  When  the  door  slammed  behind 
her  her  heart  sank — she  was  alone  not  only  in 
the  house,  but  in  the  world.  This  thought  pos- 
sessed her  utterly  when  the  excitement  caused 
by  Carshaw  and  Fowle,  and  their  speedy  arrest, 
had  passed. 

That  her  aunt,  the  humdrum  Rachel  Craik, 
should  have  any  sort  of  connection  with  the  mur- 
der of  Ronald  Tower,  of  which  Winifred  had 
chanced  first  to  hear  on  Riverside  Drive  that 
morning,  seemed  the  wildest  nonsense.  Then 
Winifred  was  overwhelmed  afresh,  and  breathed 
to  herself,  "I  must  be  dreaming!" 

And  yet — the  house  was  empty!  Her  aunt 
was  not  there — her  aunt  was  held  as  a  criminal ! 
It  was  not  a  dream,  but  only  like  one,  a  waking 
nightmare  far  more  terrifying.  Most  of  the 

92 


THE  DREAM  FACE  93 

rooms  in  the  house  had  nothing  but  dust  in  them. 
Kachel  Craik  had  preferred  to  live  as  solitary  in 
teeming  Manhattan  as  a  castaway  on  a  rock  in 
the  midst  of  the  sea. 

Winifred's  mind  was  accustomed  now  to  the 
thought  of  that  solitude  shared  by  two.  This 
night,  when  there  were  no  longer  two,  but  only 
one,  the  question  arose  strongly  in  her  mind — 
why  had  there  never  been  more  than  two  ?  Cer- 
tainly her  aunt  was  not  rich,  and  might  well 
have  let  some  of  the  rooms.  Yet,  even  the  sug- 
gestion of  such  a  thing  had  made  Eachel  Craik 
angry.  This,  for  the  first  time,  struck  Winifred 
as  odd.  Everything  was  puzzling,  and  all  sorts 
of  doubts  peeped  up  in  her,  like  ghosts  question- 
ing her  with  their  eyes  in  the  dark. 

When  the  storm  of  tears  had  spent  its  force 
she  had  just  enough  interest  in  her  usual  self 
to  lay  the  table  and  make  ready  a  meal,  but  not 
enough  interest  to  eat  it.  She  sat  by  a  window 
of  her  bedroom,  her  hat  still  on  her  head,  look- 
ing down.  The  street  lamps  were  lit.  It  grew 
darker  and  darker.  Down  there  below  feet 
passed  and  repassed  in  multitudes,  like  drops  of 
the  eternal  cataract  of  life. 

Winifred's  eyes  rested  often  on  the  spot 
where  Rex  Carshaw  had  spoken  to  her  and  had 
knocked  down  Fowle,  her  tormentor.  In  hours 
of  trouble,  when  the  mind  is  stunned,  it  will 
often  go  off  into  musings  on  trivial  things.  So 


94 

this  young  girl,  sitting  at  the  window  of  the 
dark  and  empty  house,  let  her  thoughts  wander 
to  her  rescuer.  He  was  well  built,  and  poised 
like  an  athlete.  He  had  a  quick  step,  a  quick 
way  of  talking,  was  used  to  command ;  his  brow 
was  square,  and  could  threaten;  he  had  the 
deepest  blue  eyes,  and  glossy  brown  hair;  he 
was  a  tower  of  strength  to  protect  a  girl;  and 
his  wife,  if  he  had  one,  must  have  a  feeling  of 
safety.  Thoughts,  or  half-thoughts,  like  these 
passed  through  her  mind.  She  had  never  before 
met  any  young  man  of  Carshaw's  type. 

It  became  ten  o  'clock.  She  was  tired  after  the 
day's  work  and  trouble  of  mind.  The  blow  of 
her  dismissal,  the  fright  of  her  interview  with 
the  police,  the  arrest  of  her  aunt — all  this  sud- 
den influx  of  mystery  and  care  formed  a  burden 
from  which  there  was  no  escape  for  exhausted 
nature  but  in  sleep.  Her  eyes  grew  weary  at 
last,  and,  getting  up,  she  discarded  her  hat  and 
some  of  her  clothes;  then  threw  herself  on 
the  bed,  still  half-dressed,  and  was  soon 
asleep. 

The  hours  of  darkness  rolled  on.  That  tramp 
of  feet  in  the  street  grew  thin  and  scattered,  as 
if  the  army  of  life  had  undergone  a  repulse. 
Then  there  was  a  rally,  when  the  theaters  and 
picture-houses  poured  out  their  crowds;  but  it 
was  short,  the  powers  of  night  were  in  the  as- 
cendant, and  soon  the  last  stragglers  retreated 


THE  DREAM  FACE  95 

under  cover.  Of  all  this  Winifred  heard  noth- 
ing— she  slept  soundly. 

But  was  it  in  a  dream,  that  voice  which  she 
heard?  Something  somewhere  seemed  to  whis- 
per, "She  must  be  taken  out  of  New  York — 
she  is  the  image  of  her  mother." 

It  was  a  hushed,  grim  voice. 

The  room,  the  whole  house,  had  been  in  dark- 
ness when  she  had  thrown  herself  on  the  bed. 
But,  somewhere,  had  she  not  been  conscious  of 
a  light  at  some  moment?  Had  she  dreamed  this, 
or  had  she  seen  it?  She  sat  up  in  bed,  staring 
and  startled.  The  room  was  in  darkness.  In 
her  ears  were  the  words:  "She  is  the  image  of 
her  mother." 

She  had  heard  them  in  some  world,  she  did 
not  know  in  which.  She  listened  with  the  keen 
ears  of  fear.  Not  a  wagon  nor  a  taxi  any  longer 
moved  in  the  street;  no  step  passed;  the  house 
was  silent. 

But  after  a  long  ten  minutes  the  darkness 
seemed  to  become  pregnant  with  a  sound,  a 
steady  murmur.  It  was  as  if  it  came  from  far 
away,  as  if  a  brook  had  spurted  out  of  the 
granite  of  Manhattan,  and  was  even  more  like 
a  dream-sound  than  those  words  which  still  buz- 
zed in  Winifred's  ear.  Somehow, that  murmur 
as  of  water  in  the  night  made  Winifred  think 
of  a  face,  one  which,  as  far  as  she  could  remem- 
ber, she  had  never  consciously  seen — a  man's 


96 

face,  brown,  hard,  and  menacing,  which  had 
looked  once  into  her  eyes  in  some  state  of  semi- 
conscious being,  and  then  had  vanished.  And 
now  this  question  arose  in  her  mind :  was  it  not 
that  face,  hard  and  brown,  which  she  had  never 
seen,  and  yet  once  had  seen — were  not  those  the 
cruel  lips  which  somewhere  had  whispered: 
"She  is  the  image  of  her  mother?" 

Winifred,  sitting  up  in  bed,  listened  to  the 
steady,  dull  murmuring  a  long  time,  till  there 
came  a  moment  when  she  said  definitely:  "It 
is  in  the  house." 

For,  as  her  ears  grew  accustomed  to  its  tone, 
it  seemed  to  lose  some  of  its  remoteness,  to  be- 
come more  local  and  earthly.  Presently  this 
sound  which  the  darkness  was  giving  out  be- 
came the  voices  of  people  talking  in  subdued 
undertones  not  far  off.  Nor  was  it  long  before 
the  murmur  was  broken  by  a  word  sharply  ut- 
tered and  clearly  heard  by  her — -a  gruff  and  un- 
mistakable oath.  She  started  with  fright  at 
this,  it  sounded  so  near.  She  was  certain  now 
that  there  were  others  in  the  house  with  her. 
She  had  gone  to  bed  alone.  Waking  up  in  the 
dead  of  the  small  hours  to  find  men  or  ghosts 
with  her,  her  heart  beat  horribly. 

But  ghosts  do  not  swear — at  least  such  was 
Winifred's  ideal  of  the  spirit  world.  And  she 
was  brave.  Nerving  herself  for  the  ordeal,  she 
found  the  courage  to  steal  out  of  bed  and  make 


THE  DREAM  FACE  97 

her  way  out  of  the  room  into  a  passage,  and  she 
had  not  stood  there  listening  two  minutes  when 
she  was  able  to  be  certain  that  the  murmur  was 
going  on  in  a  back  room. 

How  earnest  that  talk  was — how  low  in  pitch ! 
It  could  hardly  be  burglars  there,  for  burglars 
do  not  enter  a  house  in  order  to  lay  their  heads 
together  in  long  conferences.  It  could  not  be 
ghosts,  for  a  light  came  out  under  the  rim  of  the 
door. 

After  a  time  Winifred  stole  forward,  tapped 
on  a  panel,  and  her  heart  jumped  into  her  mouth 
as  she  lifted  her  voice,  saying: 

" Aunty,  is  it  you?" 

There  was  silence  at  this,  as  though  they  had 
been  ghosts,  indeed,  and  had  taken  to  flight  at 
the  breath  of  the  living. 

" Speak!  Who  is  it?"  cried  Winifred  with 
a  fearful  shrillness  now.  A  chair  grated  on 
the  floor  inside,  hurried  steps  were  heard,  a  key 
turned,  the  door  opened  a  very  little,  and  Wini- 
fred saw  the  gaunt  face  of  Rachel  Craik  look- 
ing dourly  at  her,  for  she  had  frightened  this 
masterful  woman  very  thoroughly. 

"Oh,  aunt,  it  is  you!"  gasped  Winifred  with 
a  flutter  of  relief. 

"You  are  to  go  to  bed,  Winnie,"  said  Rachel. 

"It  is  you!    They  have  let  you  out,  then?" 

"Yes." 

"Tell  me  what  happened;  let  me  come  in — " 


98 

"Go  back  to  bed;  there's  a  good  girl.  I'll 
tell  you  everything  in  the  morning." 

"Oh,  but  I  am  glad!  I  was  so  lonely  and 
frightened!  Aunt,  what  was  it  all  about?" 

"About  nothing;  as  far  as  I  can  discover," 
said  Eachel  Craik — "a  mere  mare's-nest  found 
by  a  set  of  stupid  police.  Some  man — a  Mr. 
Ronald  Tower — was  supposed  to  have  been  mur- 
dered, and  I  was  supposed  to  have  some  con- 
nection with  it,  though  I  had  never  seen  the 
creature  in  my  life.  Now  the  man  has  turned 
up  safe  and  sound,  and  the  pack  of  noodles  have 
at  last  thought  fit  to  allow  a  respectable  woman 
to  come  home  to  her  bed." 

"Oh,  how  good!  Thank  heaven!  But,  you 
have  some  one  in  there  with  you?" 

' l  In  here — where  ? ' ' 

"Why,  in  the  room,  aunt." 

"I?    No,  no  one." 

"I  am  sure  I  heard— 

"Now,  really,  you  must  go  to  bed,  Winifred! 
What  are  you  doing  awake  at  this  hour  of  the 
morning,  roaming  about  the  house?  You  were 
asleep  half  an  hour  ago— 

"Oh,  then,  it  was  your  light  I  saw  in  my  sleep ! 
I  thought  I  heard  a  man  say:  'She  is  the 
image — '  " 

"Just  think  of  troubling  me  with  your  dreams 
at  this  unearthly  hour!  I'm  tired,  child;  go  to 
bed." 


THE  DREAM  FACE  99 

"Yes — but,  aunt,  this  day's  work  has  cost  me 
my  situation.  I  am  dismissed!" 

"Well,  a  holiday  will  do  you  good." 

"Good  gracious — you  take  it  coolly!" 

"Go  to  bed." 

A  sudden  din  of  tumbling  weights  and  splint- 
ering wood  broke  out  behind  the  half-open  door. 
For,  within  the  room  a  man  had  been  sitting  on 
a  chair  tilted  back  on  its  two  hind  legs.  The 
chair  was  old  and  slender,  the  man  huge;  and 
one  of  the  chair-legs  had  collapsed  under  the 
weight  and  landed  the  man  on  the  floor. 

"Oh,  aunt!  didn't  you  say  that  no  one — " 
began  Winifred. 

The  sentence  was  never  finished.  Rachel 
Craik,  her  features  twisted  in  anger,  pushed  the 
young  girl  with  a  force  which  sent  her  stagger- 
ing, and  then  immediately  shut  the  door.  Wini- 
fred was  left  outside  in  the  darkness. 

She  returned  to  her  bed,  but  not  to  sleep.  It 
was  certain  that  her  aunt  had  lied  to  her — there 
was  more  in  the  air  than  Winifred's  quick  wits 
could  fathom.  The  fact  of  Rachel  Craik 's  re- 
lease did  not  clear  up  the  mystery  of  the  fact 
that  she  had  been  arrested.  Winifred  lay,  spur- 
ring her  fancy  to  account  for  all  that  puzzled 
her ;  and  underlying  her  thoughts  was  the  man's 
face  and  those  strange  words  which  she  had 
heard  somewhere  on  the  borders  of  sleep. 

She  fancied  she  had  seen  the  man  somewhere 


100        TEE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

before.  At  last  she  recalled  the  occasion,  and 
almost  laughed  at  the  conceit.  It  was  a  picture 
of  Sitting  Bull,  and  that  eminent  warrior  had 
long  since  gone  to  the  happy  hunting-grounds. 

Meantime,  the  murmur  of  voices  in  the  back 
room  had  recommenced  and  was  going  on. 
Then,  towards  morning,  Winifred  became  aware 
that  the  murmur  had  stopped,  and  soon  after- 
ward she  heard  the  click  of  the  lock  of  the  front 
door  and  a  foot  going  down  the  front  steps. 

Rising  quickly,  she  crept  to  the  window  and 
looked  out.  Going  from  the  door  down  the  ut- 
terly empty  street  she  saw  a  man,  a  big  swag- 
gerer, with  something  of  the  over-seas  and  the 
adventurer  in  his  air.  It  was  Ralph  "Voles," 
the  "brother"  of  Senator  William  Meiklejohn. 
But  Winifred  could  not  distinguish  his  features, 
or  she  might  have  recognized  the  man  she  had 
seen  in  her  half-dreams,  and  who  had  said :  *  *  She 
must  be  taken  out  of  New  York — she  is  the  im- 
age of  her  mother." 

Voles  had  hardly  quitted  the  place  before  a 
street-car  conductor,  who  had  taken  temporary 
lodgings  the  previous  evening  in  a  house  oppo- 
site, hurried  out  into  the  coldness  of  the  hour 
before  dawn.  He  seemed  pleased  at  the  neces- 
sity of  going  to  work  thus  early. 

* '  Oh,  boy ! "  he  said  softly.  "Fin  glad  there 's 
somethin'  doin'  at  last.  I  was  getting  that 
sleepy.  I  could  hardly  keep  me  eyes  open!" 


THE  DREAM  FACE  101 

When  Detective  Clancy  came  to  the  Bureau 
a  few  hours  later  he  found  a  memorandum  to 
the  effect  that  a  Mr.  Ralph  V.  Voles,  of  Chicago, 
stopping  at  a  high-grade  hotel  in  Fifth  Avenue, 
had  dined  with  Rachel  Craik  in  a  quiet  restaur- 
ant, had  parted  from  her,  and  met  her  again, 
evidently  by  appointment.  The  two  had  entered 
the  house  in  One  Hundred  and  Twelfth  Street 
separately  shortly  before  midnight,  and  Voles 
returned  to  his  hotel  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing. 

Clancy  shook  his  head  waggishly. 

"  Who'd  have  thought  it  of  you,  Rachel?"  he 
cackled.  "  And,  now  that  I've  seen  you,  what  sort 
of  weird  specimen  can  Mr.  Ralph  V.  Voles,  of 
Chicago,  be  I  I  '11  look  him  up ! " 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   FLIGHT 

CARSHAW  and  Fowle  enjoyed,  let  us  say,  a 
short  but  almost  triumphal  march  to  the  nearest 
police-station.  Their  escort  of  loafers  and  small 
boys  grew  quickly  in  numbers  and  enthusiasm. 
It  became  known  that  the  arrest  was  made  in 
East  One  Hundred  and  Twelfth  Street,  and  that 
street  had  suddenly  become  famous.  The  lively^ 
inhabitants  of  the  East  Side  do  not  bother  their 
heads  about  grammatical  niceties,  so  the  gulf  be- 
tween "the  yacht  murder"  and  "the  yacht  mur- 
derers" was  easily  bridged.  The  connection 
was  clear.  Two  men  in  a  boat,  and  two  men  in 
the  grip  of  the  law!  It  needed  only  Fowle 's 
ensanguined  visage  to  complete  the  circle  of 
reasoning.  Consciousness  of  this  ill-omened 
popularity  infuriated  Carshaw  and  alarmed 
Fowle.  When  they  arrived  at  the  precinct  sta- 
tion-house each  was  inclined  to  wish  he  had 
never  seen  or  heard  of  Winifred  Bartlett ! 

Their  treatment  by  the  official  in  charge  only 
added  fuel  to  the  flame.  The  patrolman  ex- 
plained that  "these  two  were  fighting  about  the 

102 


THE  FLIGHT  103 

girl  who  lives  in  that  house  in  East  One  Hun- 
dred and  Twelfth,"  and  this  vague  statement 
seemed  all-sufficient.  The  sergeant  entered 
their  names  and  addresses.  He  went  to  the 
telephone  and  came  back. 

' '  Sit  there ! "  he  said  authoritatively,  and  they 
sat  there,  Carshaw  trying  to  take  an  interest  in 
a  "drunk"  who  was  brought  in,  and  Fowle  al- 
ternately feeling  the  sore  lump  at  the  back  of  his 
head  and  the  sorer  cartilage  of  his  nose.  After 
waiting  half  an  hour  Carshaw  protested,  but  the 
sergeant  assured  him  that  "a  man  from  the 
Bureau"  was  en  route  and  would  appear  pres- 
ently. -At  last  Clancy  came  in.  That,  is  why 
he  was  "out"  when  Senator  Meiklejohn  in- 
quired for  him. 

"H'lo!"  he  cried  when  he  set  eyes  on  Fowle. 
"My  foreman  bookbinder!  Your  folio  looks 
somewhat  battered ! ' ' 

"Glad  it's  you,  Mr.  Clancy,"  snuffled  Fowle. 
"You  can  tell  these  cops — " 

"Suppose  you  tell  me,"  broke  in  the  detec- 
tive, with  a  glance  at  Carshaw. 

"Yes,  Fowle,  speak  up,"  said  Carshaw. 
"You've  a  ready  tongue.  Explain  your  fall 
from  grace." 

"There's  nothing  to  it,"  growled  Fowle. 
"I  know  the  girl,  an'  asked  her  to  come  with 
me  this  evening.  She'd  been  fired  by  the  firm, 


104        TEE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

"Ah!  Who  fired  her!"  Clancy's  inquiry 
sounded  most  matter-of-fact. 

"The  boss,  of  course." 

"Why?" 

"Well — this  newspaper  stuff.  He  didn't  like 
it." 

"He  told  you  so?" 

"Yes.  That  is — the  department  is  a  bit 
crowded.  He — er — asked  me—  Well,  we  reck- 
oned we  could  do  without  her." 

"I  see.    Go  on." 

"So  I  just  came  up-town,  meanin'  to  talk 
things  over,  an'  find  her  a  new  job,  but  she  took 
it  all  wrong." 

Clancy  whirled  around  on  Carshaw.  Ev- 
idently he  had  heard  enough  from  Fowle. 

"And  you?"  he  snapped. 

"I  know  nothing  of  either  party,"  was  the 
calm  answer.  ' '  I  couldn  't  help  overhearing  this 
fellow  insulting  a  lady,  so  put  him  where  he 
belongs — in  the  gutter." 

"Mr.  Clancy,"  interrupted  the  sergeant, 
"you're  wanted  on  the  phone." 

The  detective  was  detained  a  good  five  min- 
utes. When  he  returned  he  walked  straight  up 
to  Fowle. 

"Quit!"  he  said,  with  a  scornful  and  side- 
long jerk  of  the  head.  "You  got  what  you 
wanted.  Get  out,  and  leave  Miss  Bartlett  alone 
in  the  future." 


THE  FLIGHT  105 

Fowle  needed  no  second  bidding. 

"As  for  me?"  inquired  Carshaw,  with  arched 
eyebrows. 

"May  I  drop  you  in  Madison  Avenue?"  said 
Clancy.  Once  the  police  car  was  speeding  down- 
town he  grew  chatty. 

"Wish  I  had  seen  you  trimming  Fowle,"  he 
said  pleasantly.  "I've  a  notion  he  had  a  finger 
in  the  pie  of  Winifred  Bartlett's  dismissal." 

"It  may  be." 

Carshaw 's  tone  was  indifferent.  Just  then 
he  was  aware  only  of  a  very  definite  resentment. 
His  mother  would  be  waiting  for  dinner,  and 
alarmed,  like  all  mothers  who  own  motoring 
sons.  The  detective  looked  surprised,  but  made 
his  point,  for  all  that. 

"I  suppose  you'll  be  meeting  that  very  charm- 
ing young  lady  again  one  of  these  days,"  he 
said. 

"I?    Why?    Most  unlikely." 

"Not  so.  Do  you  floor  every  man  you  see 
annoying  a  woman  in  the  streets?" 

"Well— er— " 

"Just  so.  Winifred  interested  you.  She  in- 
terests me.  I  mean  to  keep  an  eye  on  her,  a 
friendly  eye.  If  you  and  she  come  together 
again,  let  me  know." 

"Really—" 

"No  wonder  you  are  ready  with  a  punch. 
You  won't  let  a  man  speak.  Listen,  now.  The 


106       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

patrolman  held  you  and  Fowle  because  he  had 
orders  to  arrest,  on  any  pretext  or  none,  any 
one  who  seemed  to  have  the  remotest  connec- 
tion with  the  house  in  One  Hundred  and 
Twelfth  Street,  where  Winifred  Bartlett  lives 
with  her  aunt.  You've  read  of  the  Yacht  Mys- 
tery and  the  lassoing  of  Ronald  Tower?" 

"Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ronald  Tower  are  my  close 
friends." 

"Exactly.  Now,  Rachel  Craik,  Winifred's 
aunt,  was  released  from  custody  an  hour  ago. 
She  would  have  been  charged  with  complicity 
in  the  supposed  murder  of  Tower.  I  say  'sup- 
posed' because  there  was  no  murder.  Mr. 
Tower  has  returned  home,  safe  and  sound — " 

"By  Jove,  that's  good  news!  But  what  a 
strange  business  it  is!  My  mother  was  with 
Helen  Tower  this  morning,  trying  to  console 
her." 

"Good !  Now,  perhaps,  you'll  sit  up  and  take 
notice.  The  truth  is  that  the  mystery  of  this 
outrage  on  Tower  is  not — cannot  be — of  recent 
origin.  I'm  sure  it  is  bound  up  with  some  long- 
forgotten  occurrence,  possibly  a  crime,  in  which 
the  secret  of  the  birth  and  parentage  of  Wini- 
fred Bartlett  is  involved.  That  girl  is  no  more 
the  niece  of  her  'aunt'  than  I  am  her  nephew." 

"But  one  is  usually  the  niece  of  one's  aunt." 

"I  think  you  need  a  cigarette,"  said  Clancy 
dryly.  "Organisms  accustomed  to  poisonous 


THE  FLIGHT  107 

stimulants  often  wilt  when  deprived  too  sud- 
denly of  such  harmful  tonics.7' 

Carshaw  edged  around  slightly  and  looked  at 
this  quaint  detective. 

"I  apologize,"  he  said  contritely.  "But  the 
crowd  got  my  goat  when  it  jeered  at  me  as  a 
murderer.  And  the  long  wait  was  annoying, 
too." 

Clancy,  however,  was  not  accustomed  to  hav- 
ing his  confidences  slighted.  He  was  ruffled. 

"Perhaps  what  I  was  going  to  say  is  hardly 
worth  while,"  he  snapped.  "It  was  this.  If, 
by  chance,  your  acquaintance  with  Winifred 
Bartlett  goes  beyond  to-day's  meeting,  and  you 
learn  anything  of  her  life  and  history  which 
sounds  strange  in  your  ears,  you  may  be  ren- 
dering her  a  far  greater  service  than  by  flatten- 
ing Fowle's  nose  if  you  bring  your  knowledge 
straight  to  the  Bureau." 

"I'll  not  forget,  Mr.  Clancy.  But  let  me 
explain.  It  will  be  a  miracle  if  I  meet  Miss 
Bartlett  again." 

"It'll  be  a  miracle  if  you  don't,"  retorted 
the  other. 

So  there  was  a  passing  whiff  of  misunder- 
standing between  these  two,  and,  like  every 
other  trivial  phase  of  a  strange  record,  it  was 
destined  to  bulk  large  in  the  imminent  hazards 
threatening  one  lone  girl.  Thus,  Clancy  ceased 
being  communicative.  He  might  have  referred 


guardedly  to  Senator  Meiklejohn.  But  he  did 
not.  Oddly  enough,  his  temperament  was  sin- 
gularly alike  to  Carshaw's,  and  that  is  why 
sparks  flew. 

The  heart,  however,  is  deceitful,  and  Fate  is 
stronger  than  an  irritated  young  man  whose 
conventional  ideals  have  been  besmirched  by 
being  marched  through  the  streets  in  custody. 
The  garage  in  which  Carshaw's  automobile  was 
housed  temporarily  was  located  near  One  Hun- 
dred and  Twelfth  Street.  He  went  there  on  the 
following  afternoon  to  see  the  machine  stripped 
and  find  out  the  exact  extent  of  the  damage. 
Yet  he  passed  Winifred's  house  resolutely, 
without  even  looking  at  it.  He  returned  that 
way  at  half  past  six,  and  there,  on  the  corner, 
was  posted  Fowle — Fowle,  with  a  swollen  nose ! 
There  also  was  their  special  patrolman,  with 
an  eye  for  both ! 

The  mere  sight  of  Fowle  prowling  in  unwhole- 
some quest  stirred  up  wrath  in  Carshaw's 
mind;  and  the  heart,  always  subtle  and  self- 
deceiving,  whispered  elatedly:  "Here  you  have 
an  excuse  for  renewing  an  acquaintance  which 
you  wished  to  make  yourself  believe  you  did  not 
care  to  renew." 

He  walked  straight  to  the  door  of  the  brown- 
stone  house  and  rang.  Then  he  rapped.  There 
was  no  answer.  "When  he  had  rapped  a  second 
time  he  walked  away,  but  he  had  not  gone  far 


THE  FLIGHT  109 

when  he  was  almost  startled  to  find  himself 
face  to  face  with  Winifred  coming  home  from 
making  some  purchases,  with  a  bag  on  her  arm. 

He  lifted  his  hat.  Winifred,  with  a  vivid 
blush,  hesitated  and  stopped.  Prom  the  corner 
Fowle  stared  at  the  meeting,  and  made  up  his 
mind  that  it  was  really  a  rendezvous.  The  pa- 
trolman thought  so,  too,  but  he  had  new  orders 
as  to  these  two. 

''Pardon  me,  Miss  Bartlett,"  said  Carshaw. 
"Ah,  you  see  I  know  your  name  better  than 
you  know  mine.  Mine  is  Carshaw — Rex  Car- 
shaw, if  I  may  introduce  myself.  I  have  this 
moment  tapped  at  your  door,  in  the  hope  of 
seeing  you." 

"Why  so?"  asked  Winifred. 

"Do  you  wish  to  forget  the  incident  of  yes- 
terday evening?" 

"No;  hence  my  stopping  to  hear  what  you 
have  to  say." 

"Well,  then,  I  am  here  to  see  to  the  repairing 
of  my  car- — not  in  the  hope  of  seeing  you,  you 
know" — Carshaw  said  this  with  a  twinkle  in  his 
eye;  "though,  perhaps,  if  the  truth  were  known, 
a  little  in  that  hope,  too.  Then,  there  at  the 
corner,  I  find  the  very  man  who  molested  you 
last  night  looking  at  your  house,  and  this 
spurred  me  to  knock  in  order  to  ask  a  favor. 
Was  I  wrong?" 

"What  favor,  sir?" 


110       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

"That,  if  ever  you  have  the  least  cause  to  be 
displeased  with  the  conduct  of  that  man  in  the 
future,  you  will  consider  it  as  my  business,  and 
as  an  insult  offered  to  me — as  it  will  be  after 
the  trouble  of  last  night — and  that  you  will  let 
me  know  of  the  matter  by  letter.  Here  is  my 
address." 

Winifred  hesitated,  then  took  the  proffered 
card. 

"But—"  she  faltered. 

' 'No;  promise  me  that.  It  really  is  my  busi- 
ness now,  you  know." 

"I  cannot  write  to  you.  I — don't — know 
you." 

"Then  I  shall  only  have  to  stand  sentinel  a 
certain  number  of  hours  every  day  before 
your  house,  to  see  that  all  goes  well.  You  can't 
prevent  me  doing  that,  can  you?  The  streets 
are  free  to  everybody." 

"You  are  only  making  fun." 

"That  I  am  not.  See  how  stern  and  solemn 
I  look.  I  shall  stand  sentinel  and  gaze  up  at 
your  window  on  the  chance  of  seeing  your  face. 
Will  you  show  yourself  sometimes  to  comfort 
me?" 

"No." 

"I'm  sure  you  will." 

"I'd  better  promise  to  write  the  letter — " 

"There  now,  that's  a  point  for  me!" 

"Oh,  don't  make  me  laugh." 


THE  FLIGHT  111 

"Point  number  two — for  you  have  been  cry- 
ing, Miss  Winifred!" 
"I?" 

"Yes,  I'm  sorry  to  say.    Oh,  I  only  wish — " 

"How  do  you  know  my  name?" 

"What,  the  'Winifred'  and  the  'Bartlett?' 
Winifred  was  always  one  of  my  favorite  names 
for  a  girl,  and  you  look  the  name  all  through. 
Well,  Fowle  and  I  were  taken  to  the  station- 
house  last  night,  and  in  the  course  of  the  in- 
quiry I  heard  your  name,  of  course." 

"Did  they  do  anything  to  you  for  knocking 
down  Mr.  Fowle?" 

"No,  no.  Of  course,  they  didn't  do  anything 
to  me.  In  fact,  they  seemed  rather  pleased. 
Were  you  anxious,  then,  about  me?" 

"I  was  naturally  anxious,  since  it  was  I 
who — " 

"Ah,  now,  don't  spoil  it  by  giving  a  reason. 
You  were  anxious,  that  is  enough;  let  me  be 
proud,  as  a  recompense.  And  now  I  want  to 
ask  you  two  favors,  one  of  them  a  great  favor. 
The  first  is  to  tell  me  all  you  know  about  this 
Fowle.  And  the  second — why  you  look  so  sad 
and  have  been  crying.  May  we  walk  on  a  little 
way  together,  and  then  you  will  tell  me?" 

They  walked  on  together,  and  for  a  longer 
time  than  either  of  them  realized.  Winifred 
was  rather  bewitched.  Carshaw  was  something 
of  a  revelation  to  her  in  an  elusive  quality  ol; 


112       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

mind  or  mariner  which  she  in  her  heart  could 
only  call  ''charming." 

She  spoke  of  life  at  Brown,  Son  &  Brown's, 
in  Greenwich  Village.  She  even  revealed  that 
she  had  been  crying  because  of  dark  clouds 
which  had  gathered  round  her  of  a  sudden, 
doubts  and  fears  for  which  she  had  no  name, 
and  because  of  a  sort  of  dream  the  previous 
night  in  which  she  had  seen  a  man's  Indian 
face,  and  heard  a  hushed,  grim  voice  say :  *  *  She 
must  be  taken  out  of  New  York — she  is  the  im- 
age of  her  mother." 

"Ah!  And  your  mother — who  and  where  is 
she?"  asked  Carshaw. 

"I  don't  know.  I  can't  tell.  I  never  knew 
her,"  answered  Winifred  droopingly,  with  a 
shake  of  her  head. 

"And  as  to  your  father?" 

"I  have  no  father.    I  have  only  my  aunt." 

"Winifred,"  said  Carshaw  solemnly,  "will 
you  consider  me  your  friend  from  this 
night?" 

"You  are  kind.    I  trust  you,"  she  murmured. 

"A  friend  is  a  person  who  acts  for  another 
with  the  same  zeal  as  for  himself,  and  who  has 
the  privilege  of  doing  whatever  seems  good  to 
him  for  that  other.  Am  I  to  regard  myself  as 
thus  privileged!" 

Winifred,  who  had  never  flirted  with  any 
young  man  in  her  life,  fancied  she  knew  nothing 


TEE  FLIGHT  113 

about  the  rules  of  the  game.  She  was  confused. 
She  veiled  her  eyes. 

"I  don't  know — perhaps — we  shall  see,"  she 
stammered.  Which  was  not  so  bad  for  a  novice. 

They  parted  with  a  warm  hand-shake.  Ten 
minutes  later  Carshaw  was  in  a  telephone  booth 
with  Clancy's  ear  at  the  other  end  of  the  wire. 

"I  have  just  had  a  chat  with  Miss  Bartlett," 
he  began. 

"Tut,  tut!  How  passing  strange!'7  cackled 
the  detective..  ' '  The  merest  chance  in  the  world, 
I'm  sure." 

"Yes.  The  miracle  came  off,  so  you're  en- 
titled-to  your  gibe.  But  I  have  news  for  you. 
It's  about  a  dream  and  a  face." 

4 '  Gee !  Throw  the  picture  on  the  screen,  Mr. 
Carshaw. ' ' 

Then  Carshaw  spoke,  and  Clancy  listened  and 
bade  him  work  more  miracles,  even  though  he 
might  have  to  report  such  phenomena  to  the 
Psychical  Research  Society.  Next  morning 
Carshaw,  a  hard  man  when  offended,  visited 
Brown,  Son  &  Brown,  who  had  executed  a  large 
rebinding  order  for  his  father's  library,  and 
Fowle  was  speedily  out  of  a  job.  The  ex-fore- 
man knew  the  source  of  his  misfortune,  and 
vowed  vengeance. 

In  the  evening,  about  half  past  six,  Carshaw 
was  back  in  One  Hundred  and  Twelfth  Street. 
There  had  been  no  promise  of  a  meeting  be- 


tween  him  and  Winifred — no  promise,  but,  by 
those  roundabout  means  by  which  people  in 
sympathy  understand  each  other,  it  was  per- 
fectly well  understood  that  they  would  happen 
to  meet  again  that  night. 

He  waited  in  the  street,  but  Winifred  did  not 
appear.  The  brown-stone  house  was  in  total 
darkness.  An  hour  passed,  and  the  waiting 
was  weary,  for  it  was  drizzling.  But  Carshaw 
waited,  being  a  persistent  young  man.  At  last, 
after  seven,  a  pang  of  fear  shot  through  his 
breast.  He  remembered  the  girl's  curious  ac- 
count of  the  dream-man. 

He  determined  to  knock  at  the  door,  relying 
on  his  wits  to  invent  some  excuse  if  any 
stranger  opened.  But  to  his  repeated  loud 
knockings  there  came  no  answer.  The  house 
seemed  abandoned.  Winifred  was  gone !  Even 
a  friendly  patrolman  took  pity  on  his  drawn 
face  and  drew  near. 

"No  use,  sir!"  he  confided.  ''They've 
skipped.  But  don't  let  on  7  told  you.  Call  up 
the  Detective  Bureau!" 


CHAPTER  X 

CABSHAW   TAKES   UP   THE   CHASE    . 

"Busy,  Mr.  Carshaw  ?"  inquired  some  one 
when  an  impatient  young  man  got  in  touch  with 
Mulberry  Street  after  an  exasperating  delay. 

"Not  too  busy  to  try  and  defeat  the  scoun- 
drels who  are  plotting  against  a  defenseless 
girl,"  he  cried. 

"Well,  come  down-town.  We'll  expect  you 
in  half  an  hour." 

"But,  Mr.  Clancy  asked  me — " 

"Better  come,"  said  the  voice,  and  Carshaw, 
though  fuming,  bowed  to  authority. 

It  is  good  for  the  idle  rich  that  they  should 
be  brought  occasionally  into  sharp  contact  with 
life's  realities.  During  his  twenty-seven  years 
Eex  Carshaw  had  hardly  ever  known  what  it 
meant  to  have  a  purpose  balked.  Luckily  for 
him,  he  was  of  good  stock  and  had  been  well 
reared. 

The  instinct  of  sport,  fostered  by  triumphs 
at  Harvard,  had  developed  an  innate  quality  of 
self-reliance  and  given  him  a  physical  hardi- 
hood which  revelled  in  conquest  over  difficulties. 
Each  winter,  instead  of  lounging  in  flannels  at 

115 


116       THE,  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

the  Poinciana,  lie  was  out  with  guides  and 
dogs  in  the  Northwest  after  moose  and 
caribou. 

He  preferred  polo  to  tennis.  He  would  rather 
pass  a  fortnight  in  oilskins  with  the  rough  and 
ready  fisher-folk  of  the  Maine  coast  than  don 
the  white  ducks  and  smart  caps  of  his  wealthy 
yachting  friends.  In  a  word,  society  and  riches 
had  not  spoiled  him.  But  he  did  like  to  have 
his  own  way,  and  the  suspicion  that  he  might 
be  thwarted  in  his  desire  to  help  Winifred  Bart- 
lett  cut  him  now  like  a  sword.  So  he  chafed 
against  the  seeming  slowness  of  the  Subway, 
and  fuel  was  added  to  the  fire  when  he  was  kept 
waiting  five  minutes  on  arriving  at  police  head- 
quarters. 

He  found  Clancy  closeted  with  a  big  man  who 
had  just  lighted  a  fat  cigar,  and  this  fact  in 
itself  betokened  official  callousness  as  to  Wini- 
fred's fate.  Hot  words  leaped  from  his  lips. 

"Why  have  you  allowed  Miss  Bartlett  to  be 
spirited  away?  Is  there  no  law  in  this  State, 
nor  any  one  who  cares  whether  or  not  the  law 
is  obeyed?  She's  gone — taken  by  force.  I'm 
certain  of  it." 

"And  we  also  are  certain  of  it,  Mr.  Car- 
shaw,"  said  Steingall  placidly.  "Sit  down. 
Do  you  smoke?  You'll  find  these  cigars  in  good 
shape,"  and  he  pushed  forward  a  box. 

'  *  But,  is  nothing  being  done  I ' '   Nevertheless, 


CARSHAW  TAKES  UP  THE  CEASE     117 

Carshaw  sat  down  and  took  a  cigar.  He  had 
sufficient  sense  to  see  that  bluster  was  useless 
and  only  meant  loss  of  dignity. 

"Sure.  That's  why  I  asked  you  to  come 
along." 

"You  see,"  put  in  Clancy,  "you  short-cir- 
cuited the  connections  the  night  before  last,  so 
we  let  you  cool  your  heels  in  the  rain  this  even- 
ing. We  want  no  'first  I  will  and  then  I  won't' 
helpers  in  this  business." 

Carshaw  met  those  beady  brown  eyes  stead- 
ily. "I  deserved  that,"  he  said.  "Now,  per- 
haps, you'll  forget  a  passing  mood.  I  have 
come  to  like  Winifred." 

Clancy  stared  suddenly  at  a  clock. 

"Tick,  tick!"  he  said.  "Eight  fifteen.  Norn 
d'un  pipe,  now  I  understand." 

For  the  first  time  the  true  explanation  of 
Senator  Meiklejohn's  covert  glance  at  the  clock 
the  previous  morning  had  occurred  to  him. 
That  wily  gentleman  wanted  Winifred  out  of 
the  house  for  her  day's  work  before  the  police 
interviewed  Eachel  Craik.  He  had  fought  hard 
to  gain  even  a  few  hours  in  the  effort  to  hinder 
inquiry. 

"What's  bitten  you,  Frog?"  inquired  the 
chief. 

Probably — who  knows? — but  there  was  some 
reasonable  likelihood  that  the  Senator's  name 
might  have  reached  Carshaw 's  ears  had  not  the 


118        THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

telephone  bell  jangled.  Steingall  picked  up  the 
receiver. 

"Long-distance  call.  This  is  it,  I  guess," 
and  his  free  hand  enjoined  silence.  The  talk 
was  brief  and  one-sided.  Steingall  smiled  as 
he  replaced  the  instrument. 

"Now,  we're  ready  for  you,  Mr.  Carshaw," 
he  said,  lolling  back  in  his  chair  again.  "The 
Misses  Craik  and  Bartlett  have  arrived  for  the 
night  at  the  Maples  Inn,  Fairfield,  Connecticut. 
Thanks  to  you,  we  knew  that  some  one  was 
desperately  anxious  that  Winifred  should 
leave  New  York.  Thanks  to  you,  too,  she  has 
gone.  Neither  her  aunt  nor  the  other  inter- 
ested people  cared  to  have  her  strolling  in  Cen- 
tral Park  with  an  eligible  and  fairly  intelligent 
bachelor  like  Mr.  Rex  Carshaw." 

Carshaw's  lips  parted  eagerly,  but  a  gesture 
stayed  him. 

"Yes.  Of  course,  I  know  you're  straining  at 
the  leash,  but  please  don't  go  off  on  false 
trails.  You  never  lose  time  casting  about  for 
the  true  line.  This  is,  the  actual  position  of 
affairs:  A  man  known  as  Ralph  V.  Voles, 
assisted  by  an  amiable  person  named  Mick  the 
Wolf — he  was  so  christened  in  Leadville, 
where  they  sum  up  a  tough  accurately — hauled 
Mr.  Ronald  Tower  into  the  river.  For  some 
reason  best  known  to  himself,  Mr.  Tower  treats 
the  matter  rather  as  a  joke,  so  the  police  can 


CARS  HAW  TAKES  UP  THE  CHASE     119 

carry  it  no  further.  But  Voles  is  associated 
with  Rachel  Craik,  and  was  in  her  house  during 
several  hours  on  the  night  of  the  river  incident 
and  the  night  following.  It  is  almost  safe  to 
assume  that  he  counseled  the  girl's  removal 
from  New  York  because  she  is  'the  image  of  her 
mother.'  One  asks  why  this  very  natural  fact 
should  render  Winifred  Bartlett  an  undesirable 
resident  of  New  York.  There  is  a  ready 
answer.  She  might  be  recognized.  Such  recog- 
nition would  be  awkward  for  somebody.  But 
the  girl  has  lived  in  almost  total  seclusion. 
She  is  nineteen.  If  she  is  so  like  her  mother  as 
to  be  recognized,  her  mother  must  have  been  a 
person  of  no  small  consequence,  a  lady  known 
to  and  admired  by  a  very  large  circle  of 
friends.  The  daughter  of  any  other  woman, 
presumably  long  since  dead,  who  was  not  of 
social  importance,  could  hardly  be  recognized. 
You  follow  this ?" 

"Perfectly."  Carshaw  was  beginning  to 
remodel  his  opinion  of  the  Bureau  generally, 
and  of  its  easy-going,  genial-looking  chief  in 
particular. 

"This  fear  of  recognition,  with  its  certain 
consequc-nces,"  went  on  Steingall,  pausing  to 
flick  the  ash  off  his  cigar,  "is  the  dominant  fac- 
tor in  Winifred's  career  as  directed  by  Rachel 
Craik.  This  woman,  swayed  by  some  lingering 
shreds  of  decent  thought,  had  the  child  well 


120        THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

educated,  but  the  instant  she  approaches  matur- 
ity, Winifred  is  set  to  earn  a  living  in  a  book- 
binding factory.  Why?  Social  New  York  does 
not  visit  wholesale  trade  houses,  nor  travel  on 
the  elevated  during  rush  hours.  But  it  does  go' 
to  the  big  stores  and  fashionable  milliners 
where  a  pretty,  well  proportioned  girl  can  ob- 
tain employment  readily.  Moreover,  Rachel 
Craik  would  never  'hear  of  the  stage,  though 
Winifred  can  sing,  and  believes  she  could  dance. 
And  how  prompt  recognition  might  be  in  a 
theater.  It  all  comes  to  this,  Mr.  Carshaw: 
the  Bureau's  hands  are  tied,  but  it  can  and  will 
assist  an  outsider,  whom  it  trusts,  who  means 
rescuing  Miss  Bartlett  from  the  exile  which 
threatens  her.  We  have  looked  you  over  care- 
fully, and  think  you  are  trustworthy— 

"The  Lord  help  you  if  you're  not !"  broke  in 
Clancy.  "I  like  the  girl.  It  will  be  a  bad  day 
for  the  man  who  works  her  evil." 

Carshaw's  eyes  clashed  with  Clancy's,  as 
rapiers  rasp  in  thrust  and  parry.  From  that 
instant  the  two  men  became  firm  friends,  for 
the  young  millionaire  said  quietly: 

"I  have  her  promise  to  call  for  help  on  me, 
first,  Mr.  Clancy." 

"You'll  follow  her  to  Fairfield  then?"  and 
Steingall  sat  up  suddenly. 

"Yes.    Please  advise  me." 

"That's  the  way  to  talk.    I  wish  there  was  a 


CARSHAW  TAKES  UP  THE  CHASE     121 

heap  more  boys  like  you  among  the  Four  Hun- 
dred. But  I  can't  advise  you.  I'm  an  official. 
Suppose,  however,  I  were  a  young  gentleman 
of  leisure  who  wanted  to  befriend  a  deserving 
young  lady  in  Winifred  Bartlett's  very  pecu- 
liar circumstances.  I'd  persuade  her  to  leave 
a  highly  undesirable  'aunt,'  and  strike  out  for 
herself.  I'd  ask  my  mother,  or  some  other  lady 
of  good  standing,  to  take  the  girl  under  her 
wing,  and  see  that  she  was  cared  for  until  a 
place  was  found  in  some  business  or  profession 
suited  to  her  talents.  And  that's  as  far  as  I 
care  to  go  at  this  sitting.  As  for  the  ways  and 
means,  in  these  days  of  fast  cars  and  daredevil 
drivers  who  are  in  daily  danger  of  losing  their 
licenses — " 

"By  gad,  I'll  do  it,"  and  Carshaw's  emphatic 
fist  thumped  the  table. 

"Steady!  This  Voles  is  a  tremendous  fel- 
low. In  a  personal  encounter  you  would  stand 
no  chance.  And  he's  the  sort  that  shoots  at 
sight.  Mick  the  Wolf,  too,  is  a  bad  man  from 
the  wild  and  woolly  West.  The  type  exists,  even 
to-day.  We  have  gunmen  here  in  New  York 
who'd  clean  up  a  whole  saloonful  of  modern 
cowboys.  Voles  and  Mick  are  in  Fairfield,  but 
I've  a  notion  they'll  not  stay  in  the  same  hotel 
as  Winifred  and  her  aunt.  I  think,  too,  that 
they  may  lie  low  for  a  day  or  two.  You'll  ob- 
serve, of  course,  that  Rachel  Craik,  so  poverty- 


122        THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

stricken  that  Winifred  had  to  earn  eight  dollars 
a  week  to  eke  out  the  housekeeping,  can  now 
afford  to  travel  and  live  in  expensive  hotels. 
All  this  means  that  Winifred  ought  to  be  urged 
to  break  loose  and  come  back  to  New  York. 
The  police  will  protect  her  if  she  gives  them  the 
opportunity,  but  the  law  won't  let  us  butt  in 
between  relatives,  even  supposed  ones,  without 
sufficient  justification.  One  last  word — you 
must  forget  everything  I've  said." 

"And  another  last  word,"  cried  Clancy. 
* '  The  Bureau  is  a  regular  old  woman  for  tittle- 
tattle.  We  listen  to  all  sorts  of  gossip.  Some 
of  it  is  real  news." 

"And,  by  jing,  I  was  nearly  omitting  one  bit 
of  scandal,"  said  Steingall.  "It  seems  that 
Mick  the  Wolf  and  a  fellow  named  Fowle  met 
in  a  corner  saloon  round  about  One  Hundred 
and  Twelfth  Street  the  night  before  last.  They 
soon  grew  thick  as  thieves,  and  Fowle,  it  ap- 
pears, watched  a  certain  young  couple  stroll 
off  into  the  gloaming  last  night." 

"Next  time  I  happen  on  Fowle!"  growled 
Carshaw. 

"You'll  leave  him  alone.  Brains  are  better 
than  brawn.  Ask  Clancy." 

"Sure  thing!"  chuckled  the  little  man. 
"Look  at  us  two!" 

"Anyhow,  I'd  hate  to  have  the  combination 
working  against  me,"  and  with  this  deft  re- 


CAR8HAW  TAKES  UP  THE  CHASE     123 

joinder  Carshaw  hurried  away  to  a  garage 
where  he  was  known.  At  dawn  he  was  hooting 
an  open  passage  along  the  Boston  Post  Road 
in  a  car  which  temporarily  replaced  his  own 
damaged  cruiser. 

Within  three  hours  he  was  seated  in  the  din- 
ing-room of  the  Maples  Inn  and  reading  a  news- 
paper. It  was  the  off  season,  and  the  hotel  con- 
tained hardly  any  guests,  but  he  had  ascertained 
that  Winifred  and  her  aunt  were  certainly 
there.  For  a  long  time,  however,  none  but  a 
couple  of  German  waiters  broke  his  vigil,  for 
this  thing  happened  before  the  war.  One  stout 
fellow  went  away.  The  other,  a  mere  boy,  re- 
mained and  flecked  dust  with  a  napkin,  wonder- 
ing, no  doubt,  why  the  motorist  sat  hours  at  the 
table.  At  last,  near  noon,  Rachel  Craik,  with  a 
plaid  shawl  draped  around  her  angular  shoul- 
ders, and  Winifred,  in  a  new  dress  of  French 
gray,  came  in. 

Winifred  started  and  cast  down  her  eyes  on 
seeing  who  was  there.  Carshaw,  on  his  part, 
apparently  had  no  eyes  for  her,  but  kept  a  look 
over  the  top  of  his  newspaper  at  Rachel  Craik, 
to  see  whether  she  recognized  him,  supposing  it 
to  be  a  fact  that  he  had  been  seen  with  Wini- 
fred. She  seemed,  however,  hardly  to  be  aware 
of  his  presence. 

The  girl  and  the  woman  sat  some  distance 
from  him — the  room  was  large — near  a  win- 


dow,  looking  out,  and  anon  exchanging  a  remark 
in  quiet  voices.  Then  a  lunch  was  brought  into 
them,  Carshaw  meantime  buried  in  the  news- 
paper except  when  he  stole  a  glance  at 
Winifred. 

His  hope  was  that  the  woman  would  leave  the 
girl  alone,  if  only  for  one  minute,  for  he  had  a 
note  ready  to  slip  into  "Winifred's  hand, 
beseeching  her  to  meet  him  that  evening  at 
seven  in  the  lane  behind  the  church  for  some 
talk  "on  a  matter  of  high  importance." 

But  fortune  was  against  him.  Rachel  Craik, 
after  her  meal,  sat  again  at  the  window,  took 
up  some  knitting,  and  plied  needles  like  a  slow 
machine.  The  afternoon  wore  on.  Finally, 
Carshaw  rang  to  order  his  own  late  lunch,  and 
the  German  boy  brought  it  in.  He  rose  to  go 
to  table;  but,  as  if  the  mere  act  of  rising 
spurred  him  to  further  action,  he  walked 
straight  to  "Winifred.  The  hours  left  him  were 
few,  and  his  impatience  had  grown  to  the  point 
of  desperateness  now.  He  bowed  and  held  out 
the  paper,  saying: 

"Perhaps  you  have  not  seen  this  morning's 
newspaper?"  At  the  same  time  he  presented 
her  the  note. 

Miss  Craik  was  sitting  two  yards  away,  half- 
turned  from  Winifred,  but  at  this  afternoon 
offer  of  the  morning's  paper  she  glanced  round 
fully  at  Winifred,  and  saw,  that  as  Winifred 


CARSHAW  TAKES  UP  THE  CHASE     125 

took  the  newspaper,  she  tried  to  grasp  with  it 
a  note  also  which  lay  on  it — tried,  but  failed, 
fo-r  the  note  escaped,  slipped  down  on  Wini- 
fred's lap,  and  lay  there  exposed. 

Miss  Craik's  eyebrows  lifted  a  little,  but  she 
did  not  cease  her  knitting.  Winifred's  face  was 
painfully  red,  and  in  another  moment  pale. 
Carshaw  was  not  often  at  his  wits'  end,  but  now 
for  some  seconds  he  stood  embarrassed. 

Rachel  Craik,  however,  saved  him  by  saying 
quickly:  "The  gentleman  has  dropped  some- 
thing in  your  lap,  Winifred."  Whereupon 
Winifred  handed  back  the  unfortunate  note. 

What  was  he  to  do  now?  If  he  wrote  to  Wini- 
fred through  the  ordinary  channels  of  the  hotel 
she  might,  indeed,  soon  receive  the  letter,  but 
the  risks  of  this  course  were  many  and  obvious. 
•He  ate,  puzzling  his  brains,  spurring  all  his 
power  of  invention.  The  time  for  action  was 
growing  short. 

Suddenly  he  noticed  the  German  boy,  and 
had  a  thought.  He  could  speak  German  well, 
and,  guessing  that  Rachel  Craik  probably  did 
not  understand  a  word  of  it,  he  said  in  a  natural 
voice  to  the  boy  in  German: 

"Fond  of  American  dollars,  boy!" 

"Ja,  mein  Herr,"  answered  the  boy. 

"I'm  going  to  give  you  five." 

"You  are  very  good,  mein  Herr/'  said  the 
boy,  "beautiful  thanks!" 


126       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

"But  you  have  to  earn  them.  Will  you  do 
just  what  I  tell  you,  without  asking  for  any 
reason?" 

"If  I  can,  mein  Herr." 

"Nothing  very  difficult.  You  have  only  to  go 
over  yonder  by  that  chair  where  I  was  sitting, 
throw  yourself  suddenly  on  the  floor,  and  begin 
to  kick  and  wriggle  as  though  you  had  a  fit. 
Keep  it  up  for  two  minutes,  and  I  will  give  you 
not  five  but  ten.  Will  you  do  this?" 

"From  the  heart  willingly,  mein  Herr," 
answered  the  boy,  who  had  a  solemn  face  and 
a  complete  lack  of  humor. 

"Wait,  then,  three  minutes,  and  then — sud- 
denly— do  it." 

The  three  minutes  passed  in  silence ;  no  sound 
in  the  room,  save  the  clicking  of  Carshaw 's 
knife  and  fork,  and  the  ply  of  Rachel  Craik's 
knitting-needles.  Then  the  boy  lounged  away 
to  the  farther  end  of  the  room;  and  suddenly, 
with  a  bump,  he  was  on  the  floor  and  in  the 
promised  fit. 

"Halloo!"  cried  Carshaw,  while  from  both 
Winifred  and  Rachel  came  little  cries  of  alarm 
—for  a  fit  has  the  same  effect  as  a  mouse  on 
the  nerves  of  women. 

"He's  in  a  fit!"  screamed  the  aunt. 

"Please  do  something  for  him!"  cried  Wini- 
fred to  Carshaw,  with  a  face  of  distress.  But 
he  would  not  stir  from  his  seat.  The  boy  still 


CARS  HAW  TAKES  UP  THE  CHASE  127 

kicked  and  writhed,  lying  on  his  face  and  utter- 
ing blood-curdling  sounds.  This  was  easy.  He 
had  only  to  make  bitter  plaint  in  the  German 
tongue. 

"Oh,  aunt,"  said  Winifred,  half  risen,  yet 
hesitating  for  fear,  "do  help  that  poor  fellow!" 

Whereupon  Miss  Craik  leaped  up,  caught  the 
water-jug  from  the  table  with  a  rather  wither- 
ing look  at  Carshaw,  and  hurried  toward  the 
boy.  Winifred  went  after  her  and  Carshaw 
went  after  Winifred. 

The  older  woman  turned  the  boy  over,  bent 
down,  dipped  her  fingers  in  the  water,  and 
sprinkled  his  forehead.  Winifred  stood  a  little 
behind  her,  bending  also.  Near  her,  too,  Car- 
shaw bent  over  the  now  quiet  form  of  the  boy. 

A  piece  of  paper  touched  Winifred's  palm — 
the  note  again.  This  time  her  fingers  closed  on 
it  and  quickly  stole  into  her  pocket. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   TWO   CAKS 

"!T  is  highly  improper  on  my  part  to  come 
here  and  meet  you,"  said  Winifred.  "What 
can  it  be  that  you  have  to  say  to  me  of  such 
'high  importance'!" 

The  two  were  in  the  lane  behind  the  church, 
at  seven  that  same  evening.  Winifred,  on  some 
pretext,  has  escaped  the  watchful  eyes  of  Rachel 
Craik,  or  fancied  that  she  had,  and  came  hur- 
riedly to  the  waiting  Carshaw.  She  was  all 
aflutter  with  expectancy  not  untinged  by  fear, 
she  knew  not  of  what.  The  nights  were  begin- 
ning to  darken  early,  and  it  was  gloomy  that 
evening,  for  the  sky  was  covered  with  clouds 
and  a  little  drizzle  was  falling. 

"You  are  not  to  think  that  there  is  the  least 
hint  of  impropriety  about  the  matter,"  Carshaw 
assured  her.  "Understand,  please,  Winifred, 
that  this  is  no  lovers'  meeting,  but  a  business 
one,  on  which  your  whole  future  life  depends. 
You  cannot  suppose  that  I  have  followed  you  to 
Fairfield  for  nothing." 

"How  could  you  possibly  know  that  I 
here  f ' ' 

128 


THE  TWO  CARS  129 

"From  the  police." 

"The  police  again?    What  a  strange  thing!" 

"Yes,  a  strange  thing,  and  yet  not  so  strange. 

They  are  keenly  interested  in  you  and  your 

movements,  for  your  good.    And  I,  of  course, 

still  more  so." 

"You  are  wonderfully  good  to  care.  But,  tell 
me  quickly,  I  cannot  stay  ten  minutes.  I  think 
my  aunt  suspects  something.  She  already 
knows  about  the  note  dropped  to-day  into  my 
lap." 

1  'And  about  the  boy  in  the  fit.  Does  she  sus- 
pect that,  too?" 

'  *  What,  was  that  a  ruse  ?  Good  gracious,  how 
artful  you  must  be!  I'm  afraid  of  you — " 
" Endlessly  artful  for  your  sake,  Winifred." 
"You  are  kind.  But  tell  me  quickly." 
"Winifred,  you  are  in  danger,  from  which 
there  is  only  one  way  of  escape  for  you — 
namely,  absolute  trust  in  me.  Pray  understand 
that  the  dream  in  which  you  heard  some  one 
say,  'She  must  be  taken  away  from  New  York' 
was  no  dream.  You  are  here  in  order  to  be 
taken.  This  may  be  the  first  stage  of  a  long 
journey.  Understand  also  that  there  is  no  bond 
of  duty  which  forces  you  to  go  against  your  will, 
for  the  shrewdest  men  in  the  New  York  police 
have  reason  to  think  you  are  not  who  you 
imagine  you  are,  and  that  the  woman  you  call 
your  aunt  is  no  relative  of  yours," 


130       THE  BAETLETT  MYSTERY 

"What  reason  have  they?"  asked  Winifred. 

"I  don't  care — I  don't  know,  they  have  not 
told  me.  But  I  believe  them,  and  I  want  you 
to  believe  me.  The  persons  who  have  charge  of 
your  destiny  are  not  normal  persons — more  or 
less  they  have  done,  or  are  connected  with 
wrong.  There  is  no  doubt  about  that.  The 
police  know  it,  though  they  cannot  yet  drag 
that  wrong  into  the  light.  Do  you  credit  what 
I  say?" 

"It  is  all  very  strange." 

"It  is  true.  That  is  the  point.  Have  you, 
by  the  way,  ever  seen  a  man  called  Voles  1 ' ' 

"Voles?    No." 

"Yet  that  man  at  this  moment  is  somewhere 
near  you.  He  came  in  the  same  train  with  you 
from  New  York.  He  is  always  near  you.  He 
is  the  most  intimate  associate  of  your  aunt. 
Think  now,  and  tell  me  whether  it  is  not  a  dis- 
turbing thing  that  you  never  saw  this  man 
face  to  face?" 

"Most  disturbing,  if  what  you  say  is  so." 

"But  suppose  I  tell  you  what  I  firmly  believe 
• — that  you  have  seen  him;  that  it  was  his  face 
which  bent  over  you  in  your  half-sleep  the 
other  night,  and  his  voice  which  you  heard?" 

"I  always  thought  that  it  was  no  dream," 
said  Winifred.  "It  was — not  a  nice  face." 

"And  remember,  Winifred,"  urged  Carshaw 


THE  TWO  CARS  131 

earnestly,  "that  to-day  and  to-morrow  are  your 
last  chances.  You  are  about  to  be  taken  far 
away — possibly  to  France  or  England,  as  surely 
as  you  see  those  clouds.  True,  if  you  go,  I  shall 
go  after  you." 

"You?" 

"Yes,  I.  But,  if  you  go,  I  cannot  be  certain 
how  far  I  may  be  able  to  defend  and  rescue  you 
there,  as  I  can  in  America.  I  know  nothing 
of  foreign  laws,  and  those  who  have  you  in  their 
power  do.  On  that  field  they  may  easily  beat 
me.  So  now  is  your  chance,  Winifred." 

"But  what  am  I  to  do?"  she  asked  in  a 
scared  tone,  frightened  at  last  by  the  sincerity 
blazing  from  his  eyes. 

"Necessity  has  no  rules  of  propriety,"  he 
answered.  "I  have  a  car  here.  You  should 
come  with  me  this  very  night  to  New  York. 
Once  back  there,  it  is  only  what  my  interest  in 
you  gives  me  the  right  to  expect  that  you  will 
consent  to  use  my  purse  for  a  short  while,  till 
you  find  suitable  employment. ' ' 

Winifred  covered  her  face  and  began  to  cry. 
"Oh,  I  couldn't!"  she  sobbed. 

"Don't  cry,"  said  Carshaw  tenderly.  "You 
must,  you  know,  since  it  is  the  only  way.  You 
cry  because  you  do  not  trust  me." 

"  Oh !  I  do.  But  what  a  thing  it  is  that  you 
propose !  To  break  with  all  my  past  on  a  sud- 


132       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

den.  I  hardly  even  know  you ;  last  week  I  had 
not  seen  you — " 

"  There,  that  is  mistrust.  I  know  you  as  well 
as  if  I  had  always  known  you.  In  fact,  I  always 
did,  in  a  sense.  Please  don't  cry.  Say  that  you 
will  come  with  me  to-night.  It  will  be  the  best 
piece  of  work  that  you  ever  did  for  yourself, 
and  you  will  always  thank  me  for  having  per- 
suaded you." 

"But  not  to-night!  I  must  have  time  to 
reflect,  at  least." 

"Then,  when?" 

"Perhaps  to-morrow  night.  I  don't  know. 
I  must  think  it  over  first  in  all  its  bearings.  To- 
morrow morning  I  will  leave  a  letter  in  the 
office,  telling  you — ' 

"Well,  if  you  insist  on  the  delay.  But  it  is 
dangerous,  Winifred — it  is  horribly  danger- 
ous!" 

"I  can't  help  that.  How  could  a  girl  run 
away  in  that  fashion?" 

"Well,  then,  to-morrow  night  at  eleven,  pre- 
cisely. I  shall  be  at  the  end  of  this  lane  in  my 
car,  if  your  letter  in  the  morning  says  'Yes.' 
Is  that  understood?" 

"Yes." 

"Let  me  warn  you  against  bringing  anything 
with  you — any  clothes  or  a  grip.  Just  steal  out 
of  the  inn  as  you  are.  And  I  shall  be  just  there 
at  the  corner — at  eleven. ' ' 


THE  TWO  CARS  133 

"Yes." 

"I  may  not  have  the  chance  of  speaking  to 
you  again  before — " 

But  Carshaw's  pleading  stopped  short;  from 
the  near  end  of  the  lane  a  tall  form  entered  it — 
Rachel  Craik.  She  had  followed  Winifred  from 
the  hotel,  suspecting  that  all  was  not  well — had 
followed  her,  lost  her,  and  now  had  ref ound  her. 
She  walked  sedately,  with  an  inscrutable  face, 
toward  the  spot  where  the  two  were  talking. 
The  moment  Carshaw  saw  this  woman  of  ill 
omen  he  understood  that  all  was  lost,  unless  he 
acted  with  bewildering  promptness,  and  quickly 
he  whispereed  in  Winifred's  ear: 

''It  must  be  to-night  or  never!  Decide  now. 
'Yes'  or  'No.'  " 

"Yes,"  said  Winifred,  in  a  voice  so  low  that 
he  could  hardly  hear. 

"At  eleven  to-night?" 

"Yes,"  she  murmured. 

Rachel  Craik  was  now  up  to  them.  She  was 
in  a  vile  temper,  but  contrived  to  curb  it. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this,  Winifred? 
And  who  is  this  gentlemen?"  she  said. 

Winifred,  from  the  habit  of  a  lifetime,  stood 
in  no  small  awe  of  that  austere  woman.  All  the 
blood  fled  from  the  girl's  face.  She  could  only 
say  brokenly: 

"I  am  coming,  aunt,"  and  went  following 
with  a  dejected  air  a  yard  behind  her  captor. 


134       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

In  this  order  they  walked  till  they  arrived  at  the 
door  of  the  Maples  Inn,  neither  having  uttered 
a  single  word  to  the  other.  There  Miss  Craik 
halted  abruptly.  "Go  to  your  room,"  she  mut- 
tered. "I'm  ashamed  of  you.  Sneaking  out  at 
night  to  meet  a  strange  man !  No  kitchen-wench 
could  have  behaved  worse." 

Winifred  had  no  answer  to  that  taunt.  She 
could  not  explain  her  motives.  Indeed,  she 
would  have  failed  lamentably  had  she  attempted 
it.  All  she  knew  was  that  life  had  suddenly 
turned  topsy-turvy.  She  distrusted  her  aunt, 
the  woman  to  whom  she  seemed  to  owe  duty  and 
respect,  and  was  inclined  to  trust  a  young  man 
whom  she  had  met  three  times  in  all.  But  she 
was  gentle  and  soft-hearted.  Perhaps,  if  this 
Mr.  Rex  Carshaw,  with  his  earnest  eyes  and 
wheedling  voice,  could  have  a  talk  with 
"aunty,"  his  queer  suspicions — so  oddly  borne 
out  by  events — might  be  dissipated. 

"I'm  sorry  if  I  seem  to  have  done  wrong," 
she  said,  laying  a  timid  hand  on  Rachel  Craik 's 
arm.  "If  you  would  only  tell  me  a  little,  dear. 
Why  have  we  left  New  York?  Why—" 

"Do  you  want  to  see  me  in  jail?"  came  the 
harsh  whisper?" 

"No.    Oh,  no.    But—" 

"Obey  me,  then!  Remain  in  your  room  till 
I  send  for  you.  I'm  in  danger,  and  you,  you 


THE  TWO  CARS  135 

foolish  girl,  are  actually  in  league  with  my 
enemies.  Go!" 

Winifred  sped  through  the  porch,  and  hied 
her  to  a  window  in  her  room  on  the  first  floor 
which  commanded  a  view  of  the  main  street. 
She  could  see  neither  Carshaw  nor  Aunt  Rachel, 
the  one  having  determined  to  lie  low  for  a  few 
hours,  and  the  other  being  hidden  from  sight 
already  as  she  hastened  through  the  rain  to  the 
small  inn  where  Voles  and  Mick  the  Wolf  were 
located. 

These  worthies  were  out.  The  proprietor 
said  they  had  hired  a  car  and  gone  to  Bridge- 
port. "Miss  Craik  could  only  wait,  and  she  sat 
in  the  lobby,  prim  and  quiet,  the  picture  of  res- 
ignation, not  betraying  by  a  look  or  gesture  the 
passions  of  anger,  apprehension,  and  impa- 
tience which  raged  in  her  breast. 

Voles  did  not  come.  An  hour  passed;  eight 
struck,  then  nine.  Once  the  word  ' l  carousing" ! 
passed  Miss  Rachel's  lips  with  an  intense  bitter- 
ness; but,  on  the  whole,  she  sat  with  a  stiff 
back,  patient  as  stone. 

Then  after  ten  there  came  the  hum  and  whir 
of  an  automobile  driven  at  high  speed  through 
the  rain-sodden  main  street.  It  stopped  outside 
the  inn.  A  minute  later  the  gallant  body  of 
Voles  entered,  cigar  in  his  mouth,  and  a  look 
of  much  champagne  in  his  eyes. 


136       TEE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

''What,  Rachel,  girl,  you  here!"  he  said  in 
his  offhand  way. 

1  'Are  you  sober?"  asked  Rachel,  rising 
quickly. 

''Sober?  Never  been  really  soused  in  my 
life!  What 'sup?" 

He  dropped  a  huge  paw  roughly  on  her 
shoulder,  and  her  hard  eyes  softened  as  she 
looked  at  his  face  and  splendid  frame,  for 
Ralph  "Voles"  was  Rachel  Craik's  one  weak- 
ness. 

"What's  the  trouble?"  he  went  on,  seeing 
that  her  lips  were  twitching. 

"You  should  have  been  here,"  she  snapped. 
"Everything  may  be  lost.  A  man  is  down  here 
after  Winifred,  and  I've  caught  her  talking  to 
him  in  secret." 

"A  cop?"  and  Voles  glanced  around  the 
otherwise  deserted  lobby. 

"I  don't  know — most  probably.  Or  he  may 
be  that  same  man  who  was  walking  with  her  on 
Wednesday  night  in  Central  Park.  Anyway, 
this  afternoon  he  tried  to  hand  her  a  note  in 
offering  her  a  newspaper.  The  note  fell,  and  I 
saw  it.  Afterward  he  managed  to  get  it  to  her 
in  some  way,  though  I  never  for  a  moment  let 
her  out  of  my  sight ;  and  they  met  about  seven 
o'clock  behind  the  church." 

' '  The  little  cat !    She  beat  you  to  it,  Rachel ! ' ' 

"There  is  no  time  for  talk,  Ralph.    That  man. 


THE  TWO  CARS  137 

will  take  her  from  us,  and  then  woe  to  you,  to 
William,  to  us  all.  Things  come  out;  they  do, 
they  do — the  deepest  secrets!  Man,  man — oh, 
rouse  yourself,  sober  yourself,  and  act!  We 
must  be  far  from  this  place  before  morn- 
ing." 

"No  more  trains  from  here — " 

"You  could  hire  a  car  for  your  own  amuse- 
ment. Rush  her  off  in  that.  Snatch  her  away 
to  Boston.  We  may  catch  a  liner  to-morrow." 

"But  we  can't  have  her  seeing  us!" 

"We  can't  help  that.  It  is  dark;  she  won't 
see  your  face.  Let  us  be  gone.  We  must  have 
been  watched,  or  how  could  that  man  have  found 
us  out?  Ralph!  Don't  you  understand?  You 
must  do  something." 

"Where's  this  spy  you  gab  of?    I'll — " 

"This  is  not  the  Mexican  border.  You  can't 
shoot  here.  The  man  is  not  the  point,  but  the 
girl.  She  must  be  gotten  away  at  once." 

"Nothing  easier.  Off,  now  to  the  hotel,  and 
be  ready  in  half  an  hour.  I'll  bring  the  car 
around." 

Rachel  Craik  wanted  no  further  discussion. 
She  reached  the  Maples  Inn  in  a  flurry  of  little 
runs.  Before  the  door  she  saw  two  glaring 
lights,  the  lamps  of  Carshaw's  automobile.  It 
was  not  far  from  eleven.  Even  as  she 
approached  the  hotel,  Carshaw  got  in  and  drove 
down  the  street.  He  drew  up  on  a  patch  of 


138       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

grass  by  the  roadside  at  the  end  of  the  lane 
behind  the  church.  Soon  after  this  he  heard  a 
clock  strike  eleven. 

His  eyes  peered  down  the  darkness  of  the 
lane  to  see  Winifred  coming,  as  she  had  prom- 
ised. It  was  still  drizzling  slightly — the  night 
was  heavy,  stagnant  and  silent.  Winifred  did 
not  come,  and  Carshaw's  brows  puckered  with 
care  and  foreboding.  A  quarter  of  an  hour 
passed,  but  no  light  tread  gladdened  his  ear. 
Fairfield  lay  fast  asleep. 

Carshaw  could  no  longer  sit  still.  He  paced 
restlessly  about  the  wet  grass  to  ease  his 
anxious  heart.  And  so  another  quarter  of  an 
hour  wore  slowly.  Then  the  sound  of  a  fast- 
moving  car  broke  the  silence.  Down  the  road  a 
pair  of  dragon-eyes  blazed.  The  car  came  like 
the  chariots  of  Sennacherib,  in  reckless  flight. 
Soon  it  was  upon  him.  He  drew  back  out  of  the 
road  toward  his  own  racer. 

Though  rather  surprised  at  this  urgent  flight 
he  had  no  suspicion  that  Winifred  might  be  the 
cause  of  it.  As  the  car  dashed  past  he  clearly 
saw  on  the  front  seat  two  men,  and  in  the  ton- 
neau  he  made  out  the  forms  of  two  women.  The 
faces  of  any  of  the  quartet  were  wholly  merged 
in  speed  and  the  night,  but  some  white  object 
fluttered  in  the  swirl  of  air  and  fell  forlornly 
in  the  road,  dropping  swiftly  in  its  final  plunge, 
like  a  stricken  bird.  He  darted  forward  and 


THE  TWO  CARS  139 

picked  up  a  lady's  handkerchief.  Then  he 
knew!  Winifred  was  being  reft  from  him 
again.  He  leaped  to  his  own  car,  started  the 
engine,  turned  with  reckless  haste,  and  in  a  few 
seconds  was  hot  in  chase. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   PURSUIT 

THE  two  automobiles  rushed  along  the  Boston 
Post  Road,  heading  for  Bridgeport.  The  loud 
rivalry  of  their  straining  engines  awoke  many 
a  wayside  dweller,  and  brought  down  maledic- 
tions on  the  heads  of  all  midnight  joy-riders. 

Carshaw  knew  the  road  well,  and  his  car  was 
slightly  superior  to  the  other  in  speed.  His 
hastily  evolved  plan  was  to  hold  the  kidnappers 
untilthey  were  in  the  main  street  of  Bridgeport. 
There  he  could  dash  ahead,  block  further  pro- 
gress, risking  a  partial  collision  if  necessary, 
and  refer  the  instant  quarrel  to  the  police,  bid- 
ding them  verify  his  version  of  the  dispute  by 
telephoning  New  York. 

He  could  only  hope  that  Winifred  would  bear 
him  out  as  against  her  "aunt,"  and  he  felt  sure 
that  Voles  and  his  fellow-adventurer  dare  not 
risk  close  investigation  by  the  law.  At  any 
rate,  his  main  object  at  present  was  to  overtake 
the  car  in  front,  which  had  gained  a  flying  start, 
and  thus  spoil  any  maneuvering  for  escape, 
such  as  turning  into  a  side  road.  In  his  enthu- 
siasm he  pressed  on  too  rapidly. 

140 


THE  PURSUIT  141 

He  was  seen,  and  his  intent  guessed.  The 
leading  car  slowed  a  trifle  in  rounding  a  bend ; 
as  Carshaw  careened  into  view  a  revolver-shot 
rang  out,  and  a  bullet  drilled  a  neat  hole  in  the 
wind-screen,  making  a  noise  like  the  sharp  crack 
of  a  whip.  Simultaneously  came  a  scream! 

That  must  be  Winifred's  cry  of  terror  in  his 
behalf.  The  sound  nerved  him  anew.  He  saw 
red.  A  second  shot,  followed  by  a  wilder  shriek, 
spat  lead  somewhere  in  the  bonnet.  Carshaw 
set  his  teeth,  gave  the  engine  every  ounce  of 
power,  and  the  two  chariots  of  steel  went 
raging,  reckless  of  consequences,  along  the 
road.  " 

There  must  be  a  special  Providence  that  looks 
after  chauffeurs,  as  well  as  after  children  and 
drunkards,  for  at  some  places  the  road,  though 
wide  enough,  was  so  dismal  with  shadow  that 
if  any  danger  lurked  within  the  darkness  it 
would  not  have  been  seen  in  time  to  be  avoided. 

11  Drunkenness"  is,  indeed,  the  word  to 
describe  the  state  of  mind  of  the  two  drivers 
by  this  time — a  heat  to  be  on,  a  wrath  against 
obstacles,  a  storm  in  the  blood,  and  a  light  in 
the  eyes.  Voles  would  have  whirled  through  a 
battalion  of  soldiers  on  the  march,  if  he  had 
met  them,  and  would  have  hissed  curses  at  them 
as  he  pitched  over  their  bodies.  He  knew  how 
to  handle  an  automobile,  having  driven  one 
over  the  rough  tracks  of  the  Rockies,  so  this 


142        THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

well-kept  road  offered  no  difficulties.  For  five 
minutes  the  cars  raged  ahead,  passed  through  a 
sleeping  village  street  and  down  a  hill  into  open 
country  beyond. 

No  sound  was  made  by  their  occupants,  whose 
minds  and  purposes  remained  dark  one  to  the 
other.  Voles  might  have  fancied  himself  chased 
by  the  flight  of  witches  who  harried  Tarn  o* 
Shanter,  while  Carshaw  might  have  been  hunt- 
ing a  cargo  of  ghosts ;  only  the  running  hum  of 
the  cars  droned  its  music  along  the  highway, 
with  a  staccato  accompaniment  of  revolver- 
shots  and  Winifred's  appeals  to  heaven  for  aid. 
Meantime,  the  rear  car  still  gained  on  the  one  in 
front.  And,  on  a  sudden,  Carshaw  was  aware 
of  a  shouting,  though  he  could  not  make  out  the 
words.  It  was  Mick  the  Wolf,  who  had  clam- 
bered into  the  tonneau  and  was  bellowing : 

"Pull  up,  you—  Pull  up,  or  I'll  get  you 
sure!" 

Nor  was  the  threat  a  waste  of  words,  for  he 
had  hardly  shouted  when  again  a  bullet  flicked 
past  Carshaw 's  head. 

Just  then  a  bend  of  the  road  and  a  patch 
of  woodland  hid  the  two  cars  from  each  other ; 
but  they  had  hardly  come  out  upon  a  reach  of 
straight  road  again  when  another  shot  was 
fired.  Carshaw,  however,  was  now  crouched 
low  over  the  steering  wheel,  and  using  the  hood 
of  the  car  as  a  breast-work;  though,  since  he 


THE  PURSUIT  143 

was  obliged  to  look  out,  his  head  was  still  more 
or  less  exposed. 

He  bated  no  whit  of  speed  on  this  account,  but 
raced  on;  still,  that  firing  in  the  dark  had  an 
effect  upon  his  nerves,  making  him  feel  rather 
queer  and  small,  for  every  now  and  again  at 
intervals  of  a  few  seconds,  it  was  sure  to  come, 
the  desperado  taking  slow,  cool  aim  with  the 
perseverance  of  a  man  plying  his  day's  work, 
of  a  man  repeating  to  himself  the  motto: 

"If  at  first  you  don't  succeed,  try,  try,  try 
again." 

Those  shots,  moreover,  were  coming  from  a 
hand  whose  aim  seldom  failed — a  dead  shot, 
baffled  only  by  the  unconquerable  vibration. 
And  yet  Carshaw  was  untouched.  He  could 
not  even  think.  He  was  conscious  only  of  the 
thrum  of  the  car,  the  spurts  of  flame,  the  whistle 
of  lead,  the  hysterical  frenzy  of  Winifred's 
plaints. 

The  darkness  alone  saved  him,  but  the  more 
he  caught  up  with  the  fugitive  the  less  was  this 
advantage  likely  to  stand  him  in  good  stead. 
And  when  he  should  actually  catch  them  up — 
what  then?  This  question  presented  itself  now 
to  his  heated  mind.  He  had  no  plan  of  action. 
None  was  possible.  Even  in  Bridgeport  what 
could  he  do?  There  were  two  against  one 
— he  would  simply  be  shot  as  he  passed  the 
other  car. 


144       TEE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

It  was  only  the  heat  of  the  hunt  that  had 
created  in  him  the  feeling  that  he  must  over- 
take them,  though  he  died  for  it;  but  when  he 
was  within  thirty  yards  of  the  front  car,  and 
two  shots  had  come  dangerously  near  in  swift 
succession,  a  flash  of  reason  warned  him,  and 
he  determined  to  slacken  speed  a  little.  He  was 
not  given  time  to  do  this.  There  was  an  out- 
cry on  the  car  in  front  from  three  throats  in  it. 

A  mob  of  oxen,  being  driven  to  some  market, 
blocked  the  road  just  beyond  a  bend.  The  men 
in  charge  had  heard  the  thunder  of  the  oncom- 
ing racers,  with  its  ominous  obbligato  of 
screams  and  shooting.  They  had  striven  des- 
perately to  whack  the  animals  to  the  hedge  on 
either  side,  and  were  bawling  loud  warnings 
to  those  thrice  accursed  gunmen  whom  they 
imagined  chased  by  police.  Their  efforts,  their 
yells,  were  useless.  Sixty  miles  an  hour  de- 
mands at  least  sixty  yards  for  safety.  When 
Voles  put  hand  and  foot  to  the  brakes  he  had 
hardly  a  clear  space  of  ten.  An  obstreperous 
bullock  was  the  immediate  cause  of  disaster. 
Facing  the  dragon  eyes,  it  charged  valiantly! 

Mick  the  Wolf,  running  short  of  cartridges, 
was  about  to  ask  Voles  to  slow  down  until  he 
"got"  the  reckless  pursuer,  when  he  found  him- 
self describing  a  parabola  backward  through 
the  air.  He  landed  in  the  roadway,  breaking 
his  left  arm. 


THE  PURSUIT  145 

Voles  had  an  extraordinary  lurid  oath 
squeezed  out  of  his  vast  bulk  as  he  was  forced 
onto  the  steering-wheel,  the  pillar  snapping  like 
a  carrot.  Winifred  and  Rachel  Craik  were  flung 
against  the  padded  back  of  the  driving  seat,  but 
saved  from  real  injury  because  of  their  crouch- 
ing to  avoid  Mick  the  Wolf. 

Voles  was  as  quick  as  a  wildcat  in  an  emer- 
gency like  this.  He  was  on  his  feet  in  a  second, 
with  a  leg  over  the  door,  meaning  to  shoot  Car- 
shaw  ere  the  latter  could  do  anything  to  pro- 
tect himself.  But  luck,  dead  against  honesty 
thus  far,  suddenly  veered  against  crime.  Car- 
shaw's  car  smashed  into  the  rear  of  the  heavy 
mass  composed  of  crushed  bullock  and  automo- 
bile no  longer  mobile,  and  dislocated  its  own 
engine  and  feed  pipes.  The  jerk  threw  Voles 
heavily,  and  nearly,  not  quite,  sprained  his 
ankle.  So,  during  a  precious  second  or  two,  he 
lay  almost  stunned  on  the  left  side  of  the  road. 

Carshaw,  given  a  hint  of  disaster  by  the 
slightest  fraction  of  time,  and  already  braced 
low  in  the  body  of  his  car,  was  able  to  jump 
unobserved  from  the  wreck.  As  though  his 
brain  were  illumined  by  a  flash  of  lightning,  he 
remembered  that  the  signal  handkerchief  had 
fluttered  from  the  off  side  of  the  flying  car,  so 
he  ran  to  the  right,  and  grabbed  a  breathless 
Bundle  of  soft  femininity  Out  of  the  ruin. 

" Winifred,"  he  gasped. 


146        TEE  BAETLETT  MYSTERY 

"Oh,  are  you  safe?"  came  the  strangled  sob. 
So  that  was  her  first  thought,  his  safety!  It 
is  a  thrilling  moment  in  a  man's  life  when  he 
learns  that  his  well-being  provides  an  all-suffic- 
ing content  for  some  dear  woman.  Come  weal, 
come  woe,  Carshaw  knew  then  that  he  was 
clasping  his  future  wife  in  his  arms.  He  ran 
with  her  through  a  mob  of  frightened  cattle, 
and  discovered  a  gate  leading  into  a  field. 

"Can  you  stand  if  I  lift  you  over?"  he  said, 
leaning  against  the  bars. 

"Of  course!  I  can  run,  too,"  and,  in  maid- 
enly effort  to  free  herself,  she  hugged  him 
closer.  They  crossed  the  gate  and  together 
breasted  a  slight  rise  through  scattered  sheaves 
of  corn-shucks.  Meanwhile,  Voles  and  the 
cattlemen  were  engaged  in  a  cursing  match 
until  Rachel  Craik,  recovering  her  wind, 
screamed  an  eldrich  command: 

"Stop,  you  fool!  They're  getting  away.  He 
has  taken  her  down  the  road!" 

Voles  limped  off  in  pursuit,  and  Mick  the 
Wolf  took  up  the  fierce  argument  with  the  driv- 
ers. At  that  instant  the  wreck  blazed  into 
flame.  Eachel  had  to  move  quickly  to  avoid  a 
holocaust  in  which  a  hapless  bullock  provided 
the  burnt  offering.  The  light  of  this  pyre 
revealed  the  distant  figures  of  Winifred  and 
Carshaw,  whereupon  the  maddened  Voles  tried 
pot  shots  at  a  hundred  yards.  Bullets  came 


THE  PURSUIT  147 

close,  too.  One  cut  the  heel  of  Carshaw's  shoe; 
another  plowed  a  ridge  through  his  motoring 
cap.  Realizing  that  Voles  would  aim  only  at 
him,  he  told  Winifred  to  run  wide. 

She  caught  his  hand. 

1 ' Please — help!"  she  breathed.  "I  cannot 
run  far. ' ' 

He  smothered  a  laugh  of  sheer  joy.  Wini- 
fred's legs  were  supple  as  his.  She  was  prob- 
ably the  fleeter  of  the  two.  It  was  the  mother- 
instinct  that  spoke  in  her.  This  was  her  man, 
and  she  must  protect  him,  cover  him  from  ene- 
mies with  her  own  slim  body. 

Soon  they  were  safe  from  even  a  chance  shot. 
On  climbing  a  rail  fence,  Carshaw  led  the  girl 
clearly  into  view  until  a  fold  in  the  ground 
offered.  Then  they  doubled  and  zigzagged? 
They  saw  some  houses,  but  Carshaw  wanted 
no  explanation  or  parleying  then  and  pressed 
on.  They  entered  a  lane,  or  driveway,  and  fol- 
lowed it.  There  came  a  murmuring  of  mighty 
waters,  the  voice  of  the  sea ;  they  were  on  the 
beach  of  Long  Island  Sound.  Far  behind,  in 
the  gloom,  shone  a  lurid  redness,  marking  the 
spot  where  the  two  cars  and  the  bullock  were 
being  converted  into  ardent  gasses. 

Carshaw  halted  and  surveyed  a  long,  low  line 
of  blackness  breaking  into  the  deep-blue  plain 
of  the  sea  to  the  right. 

MI  know  where  we  are,"  he  said.    "There 'a 


148        THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

a  hotel  on  that  point.  It's  about  two  miles. 
You  could  walk  twenty,  couldn't  you?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Winifred  unthinkingly. 

"Or  run  five  at  a  jog-trot?"  he  teased  her. 

"Well— er— " 

She  blushed  furiously,  and  thanked  the  night 
that  hid  her  from  his  eyes.  No  maid  wishes  a 
man  to  think  she  is  in  love  with  him  before  he 
has  uttered  the  word  of  love.  When  next  she 
spoke,  Winifred's  tone  was  reserved,  almost 
distant. 

"Now  tell  me  what  has  caused  this  tornado," 
she  said.  "I  have  been  acting  on  impulse. 
Please  give  me  some  reasonable  theory  of  to- 
night's madness." 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  Carshaw's  tongue  to 
assure  her  that  they  were  going  to  New  York 
by  the  first  train,  and  would  hie  themselves 
straight  to  the  City  Hall  for  a  marriage  license. 
But — he  had  a  mother,  a  prized  and  deeply  rev- 
erenced mother.  Ought  he  to  break  in  on  her 
placid  and  well-balanced  existence  with  the  curt 
announcement  that  he  was  married,  even  to  a 
wife  like  Winifred.  Would  he  be  playing  the 
game  with  those  good  fellows  in  the  detective 
bureau?  Was  it  fair  even  to  Winifred  that  she 
should  be  asked  to  pay  the  immediate  price,  as 
it  were,  of  her  rescue?  So  the  fateful  words 
were  not  uttered,  and  the  two  trudged  on,  talk- 
ing with  much  common  sense,  probing  the 


TEE  PURSUIT  149 

doubtful  things  in  Winifred's  past  life,  and 
ever  avoiding  the  tumult  of  passion  which  must 
have  followed  their  first  kiss. 

In  due  course  an  innkeeper  was  aroused  and 
the  mishap  of  a  car  explained.  The  man  took 
them  for  husband  and  wife;  happily,  Winifred 
did  not  overhear  Carsbaw's  smothered: 

"Not  yet!" 

The  girl  soon  went  to  her  room.  They  parted 
with  a  formal  hand-shake ;  but,  to  still  the  ready 
lips  of  scandal,  Carshaw  discovered  the  land- 
lord's favorite  brand  of  wine  and  sat  up  all 
night  in  his  company. 


CHAPTER  XIH 


THE   NEW 

STEINGALL  and  Clancy  were  highly  amused  by 
Carshaw's  account  of  the  "second  burning  of 
Fairfield,"  as  the  little  man  described  the  strug- 
gle between  Winifred's  abductors  and  her  res- 
cuer. The  latter,  not  so  well  versed  in  his 
country's  history  as  every  young  American 
ought  to  be,  had  to  consult  a  history  of  the  Rev- 
olution to  learn  that  Fairfield  was  burned  by 
the  British  in  1777.  The  later  burning,  by  the 
way,  created  a  pretty  quarrel  between  two  in- 
surance companies,  the  proprietors  of  two  gar- 
ages and  the  owner  of  a  certain  bullock,  with 
Carshaw's  lawyer  and  a  Bridgeport  lawyer, 
instructed  by  "Mr.  Ralph  Voles,"  as  inter- 
veners. 

"And  where  is  the  young  lady  now?"  in- 
quired Steingall,  when  Carshaw's  story  reached 
its  end. 

"Living  in  rooms  in  a  house  in  East  Twenty- 
Seventh  Street,  a  quiet  place  kept  by  a  Miss 
Goodman." 

"Ah!  Too  soon  for  any  planning  as  to  the 
future,  I  suppose?" 

100 


THE  NEW  LINK  151 

"We  talked  of  that  in  the  train.  Winifred 
has  a  voice,  so  the  stage  offers  an  immediate 
opening.  But  I  don't  like  the  notion  of  musical 
comedy,  and  the  concert  platform  demands  a 
good  deal  of  training,  since  a  girl  starts  there 
practically  as  a  principal.  There  is  no  urgency. 
Winifred  might  well  enjoy  a  fortnight's  rest. 
I  have  counseled  that." 

"A  stage  wait,  in  fact,"  put  in  Clancy,  sar- 
castically. 

By  this  time  Carshaw  was  beginning  to 
understand  the  peculiar  quality  of  the  small 
detective's  wit. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  smiling  into  those  piercing 
and  brilliant  eyes.  "There  are  periods  in  a 
man's  life  when  he  ought  to  submit  his  desires 
to  the  acid  test.  Such  a  time  has  come  now  for 
me." 

"But  'Aunt  Rachel'  may  find  her.  Is  she 
strong-willed  enough  to  resist  cajoling,  and 
seek  the  aid  of  the  law  if  force  is  threatened!" 

"Yes,  I  am  sure  now.  What  she  heard  and 
saw  of  those  two  men  during  the  mad  run  along 
the  Post  Road  supplied  good  and  convincing 
reasons  why  she  should  refuse  to  return  to  Miss 
Craik." 

' '  Why  are  you  unwilling  to  charge  them  with 
attempted  murder?"  said  Steingall,  for  Car- 
shaw had  stipulated  there  should  be  no  legal 
proceedings. 


152       TEE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 
"My  lawyers  advise  against  it,"  he  said  sim- 

piy- 

"You've  consulted  them?" 

"Yes,  called  in  on  my  way  here.  When  I 
reached  home  after  seeing  Winifred  fixed  com- 
fortably in  Miss  Goodman's,  I  opened  a  letter 
from  my  lawyers,  requesting  an  interview — on 
another  matter,  of  course.  Meaning  to  marry 
Winifred,  if  she  '11  take  me,  I  thought  it  wise  to 
tell  them  something  about  recent  events." 

Steingall  carefully  chose  a  cigar  from  a  box 
of  fifty,  all  exactly  alike,  nipped  the  end  off, 
and  lighted  it.  Clancy's  fingers  drummed  im- 
patiently on  the  table  at  which  the  three  were 
seated.  Evidently  he  expected  the  chief  to 
play  Sir  Oracle.  But  the  head  of  the  Bureau 
contented  himself  with  the  comment  that  he  was 
still  interested  in  Winifred  Bartlett's  history, 
and  would  be  glad  to  have  any  definite  particu- 
lars which  Carshaw  might  gather. 

Clancy  sighed  so  heavily  on  hearing  this 
"departmental"  utterance  that  Carshaw  was 
surprised. 

"If  I  could  please  myself,  I'd  rush  Winifred 
to  the  City  Hall  for  a  marriage  license  to-day," 
he  said,  believing  he  had  fathomed  the  other's 
thought. 

"I'm  a  bit  of  a  Celt  on  the  French  and  Irish 
sides,"  snapped  Clancy,  "and  that  means  an 
ineradicable  vein  of  romance  in  my  make-up. 


TEE  NEW  LINK  153 

But  I'm  a  New  York  policeman,  too — a  guy 
who  has  to  mind  his  own  business  far  more 
frequently  than  the  public  suspects." 

And  there  the  subject  dropped.  Truth  to  tell, 
the  department  had  to  tread  warily  in  stalking 
such  big  game  as  a  Senator.  Carshaw  was  a 
friend  of  the  Towers,  and  "the  yacht  mystery" 
had  been  deliberately  squelched  by  the  highly 
influential  persons  most  concerned.  It  was  im- 
politic, it  might  be  disastrous,  if  Senator  Meik- 
lejohn's  name  were  dragged  into  connection 
with  that  of  the  unsavory  Voles  on  the  flimsy 
evidence,  or,  rather,  mere  doubt,  affecting 
Winifred  Bartlett's  early  life. 

Winifred  herself  lived  in  a  passive  but  bliss- 
ful state  of  dreams  during  the  three  weeks. 
Perhaps,  in  her  heart  of  hearts,  she  wondered 
if  every  young  man  who  might  be  in  love  with  a 
girl  imposed  such  rigid  restraint  on  himself  as 
Rex  Carshaw  when  he  was  in  her  company. 
The  unspoken  language  of  love  was  plain  in 
every  glance,  in  every  tone,  in  the  merest  touch 
of  their  hands.  But  he  spoke  no  definite  word, 
and  their  lips  had  never  met. 

Miss  Goodman,  who  took  an  interest  in  the 
pretty  and  amiable  girl,  spent  many  an  hour  of 
chat  with  her.  Every  morning  there  arrived  a 
present  of  flowers  from  Carshaw;  every  after- 
noon Carshaw  himself  appeared  as  regularly 
as  the  clock  and  drank  of  Miss  Goodman's  tea. 


154       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

They  were  weeks  of  Nirvana  for  Winifred,  and, 
but  for  her  fear  of  being  found  out  and  her  con- 
tinued lack  of  occupation,  they  were  the  happi- 
est she  had  ever  known.  Meantime,  however, 
she  was  living  on  "borrowed"  money,  and  felt 
herself  in  a  false  position. 

"Well,  any  news?"  was  always  Carshaw's 
first  question  as  he  placed  his  hat  over  his  stick 
on  a  chair.  And  Winifred  might  reply : 

"Not  much.  I  saw  such-and-such  a  stage 
manager,  and  went  from  such  an  agent  to 
another,  and  had  my  voice  tried,  with  the  usual 
promises.  I'm  afraid  that  even  your  patience 
will  soon  be  worn  out.  I  am  sorry  now  that  I 
thought  of  singing  instead  of  something  else, 
for  there  are  plenty  of  girls  who  can  sing  much 
better  than  I." 

"But  don't  be  so  eager  about  the  matter, 
Winifred,"  he  would  say.  "It  is  an  anxious  little 
heart  that  eats  itself  out  and  will  not  learn, 
repose.  Isn't  it?  And  it  chafes  at  "being 
dependent  on  some  one  who  is  growing  weary 
of  the  duty.  Doesn't  it!" 

"No,  I  didn't  mean  that,"  said  Winifred 
with  a  rueful  and  tender  smile.  "You  are  infin- 
itely good,  Rex."  They  had  soon  come  to  the 
use  of  Christian  names.  Outwardly  they  were 
just  good  friends,  while  inwardly  they  resem- 
bled two  active  volcanoes. 

"Now  I  am  'infinitely  good,'  which  is  really 


THE  NEW  LINK  155 

more  than  human  if  you  think  it  out,"  he 
laughed.  "See  how  you  run  to  extremes  with 
nerves  and  things.  No,  you  are  not  to  care  at 
all,  Winnie.  You  have  a  more  or  less  good 
voice.  You  know  more  music  than  is  good  for 
you,  and  sooner  or  later,  since  you  insist  on  it, 
you  will  get  what  you  want.  Where  is  the 
hurry?" 

"You  don't  or  won't  understand,"  said 
Winifred.  "I  know  what  I  want,  and  must  get 
some  work  without  delay." 

"Well,  then,  since  it  upsets  you,  you  shall. 
I  am  not  much  of  an  authority  about  profes- 
sional matters  myself,  but  I  know  a  lady  who 
understands  these  things,  and  I'll  speak  to 
her." 

"Who  is  this  lady?"  asked  Winifred. 

"Mrs.  Ronald  Tower." 

* '  Young — nice-looking  ? ' '  asked  Winifred, 
looking  down  at  the  crochet  work  in  her  lap. 
She  was  so  taken  up  with  the  purely  feminine 
aspect  of  affairs  that  she  gave  slight  heed  to  a 
remarkable  coincidence. 

"Er — so-so,"  said  Carshaw  with  a  smile 
borne  of  memories,  which  Winifred's  downcast 
eyes  just  noticed  under  their  raised  lids. 

"What  is  she  like?"  she  went  on. 

"Let  me  see!  How  shall  I  describe  her? 
Well,  you  know  Gainsborough's  picture  of  the 
Duchess  of  Devonshire?  She's  like  that,  full- 


156       THE  BAETLETT  MYSTERY 

busted,  with  preposterous  hats,  dashing — rather 
a  beauty!" 

"Indeed!"  said  Winifred  coldly.  "She  must 
be  awfully  attractive.  A  very  old  friend?" 

'  *  Oh,  rather !  I  knew  her  when  I  was  eigh- 
teen, and  she  was  elancee  then." 

"What  does  elancee  mean?" 

"On  the  loose." 

"What  does  that  mean?" 

"Well — a  bit  free  and  easy,  doesn't  it? 
Something  of  that  sort.  Smart  set,  you  know." 

"I  see.  Do  you,  then,  belong  to  the  smart 
set?" 

"I?  No.  I  dislike  it  rather.  But  one  rubs 
with  all  sorts  in  the  grinding  of  the  mill." 

"And  this  Mrs.  Ronald  Tower,  whom  you 
knew  at  eighteen,  how  old  was  she  then?" 

"About  twenty- two  or  so." 

"And  she  was — gay  then?" 

"As  far  as  ever  society  would  let  her." 

'  *  How — did  you  know  ? ' ' 

"I — well,  weren't  we  almost  boy  and  girl  to- 
gether?" 

"I  wonder  you  can  give  yourself  the  pains 
to  come  to  spend  your  precious  minutes  with 
me  when  that  sort  of  woman  is  within— 

"What,  not  jealous?"  he  cried  joyously. 
"And  of  that  passee  creature?  Why,  she  isn't 
worthy  to  stoop  and  tie  the  latchets  of  your 
shoes,  as  the  Scripture  saith!" 


THE  NEW  LINK  157 

"Still,  I'd  rather  not  be  indebted  to  that  lady; 
for  anything,"  said  Winifred. 

''But  why  not?  Don't  be  excessive,  little  one. 
There  is  no  reason,  you  know." 

''How  does  she  come  to  know  about  singing 
and  theatrical  people?" 

"I  don't  know  that  she  does.  I  only  assume 
it.  A  woman  of  the  world,  cutting  a  great  dash, 
yet  hard  up — that  kind  knows  all  sorts  and  con- 
ditions of  men.  I  am  sure  she  could  help  you, 
and  I'll  have  a  try." 

"But  is  she  the  wife  of  the  Ronald  Tower 
who  was  dragged  by  the  lasso  into  the  river?" 

"The  same." 

"It  is  odd  how  that  name  keeps  on  occurring 
in  my  life,"  said  Winifred  musingly.  "A 
month  ago  I  first  heard  it  on  Riverside  Drive, 
and  since  then  I  hear  it  always.  I  prefer,  Rex, 
that  you  do  not  say  anything  to  that  woman 
about  me." 

' '  I  shall ! ' '  said  Rex  playfully.  ' '  You  mustn  't 
start  at  shadows." 

Winifred  was  silent.  After  a  time  she 
asked : 

"Have  you  seen  Mr.  Steingall  or  Mr.  Clancy 
lately?" 

"Yes,  a  couple  of  days  ago.  We  are  always 
more  or  less  in  communication.  But  I  have 
nothing  to  report.  They're  keeping  track  of 
Voles  and  Mick  the  Wolf,  but  those  are  birds 


158       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

who  don't  like  salt  on  their  tails.  You  know 
already  that  the  Bureau  never  ceases  to  work 
at  the  mystery  of  your  relation  with  your  im- 
possible 'aunt,'  and  I  think  they  have  informa- 
tion which  they  have  not  passed  on  to  me." 

"Is  my  aunty  still  searching  for  me,  I  won- 
der?" asked  Winifred. 

"Oh,  don't  call  her  aunty — call  her  your 
antipodes !  It  is  more  than  that  woman  knows 
how  to  be  your  aunt.  Of  course,  the  whole 
crew  of  them  are  moving  heaven  and  earth  to 
find  you!  Clancy  knows  it.  But  let  them  try 
—they  won't  succeed.  And  even  if  they  do, 
please  don't  forget  that  I'm  here  now!" 

"But  why  should  they  be  so  terribly  anxious 
to  find  me  I  My  aunty  always  treated  me  fairly 
well,  but  in  a  cold  sort  of  a  way  which  did  not 
betray  much  love.  So  love  can't  be  their  mo- 
tive." 

"Love!"  And  Carshaw  breathed  the  word 
softly,  as  though  it  were  pleasing  to  his  ear. 
"No.  They  have  some  deep  reason,  but  what 
that  is  is  more  than  any  one  guesses.  The  same 
reason  made  them  wish  to  take  you  far  from 
New  York,  though  what  it  all  means  is  not  very 
clear.  Time,  perhaps,  will  show." 

The  same  night  Rex  Carshaw  sat  among  a 
set  which  he  had  not  frequented  much  of  late 
— in  Mrs.  Tower's  drawing-room.  There  were 
several  tables  surrounded  with  people  of  vari- 


THE  NEW  LINK  159 

ous  American  and  foreign  types  playing  bridge. 
The  whole  atmosphere  was  that  of  Mammon; 
one  might  have  fancied  oneself  in  the  halls  of 
a  Florentine  money-changer.  At  the  same  table 
with  Carshaw  were  Mrs.  Tower,  another  society 
dame,  and  Senator  Meiklejohn,  who  ought  to 
have  been  making  laws  at  Washington. 

Tower  stood  looking  on,  the  most  unimpor- 
tant person  present,  and  anon  ran  to  do  some 
bidding  of  his  wife's.  Carshaw's  only  relation 
with  Helen  Tower  of  late  had  been  to  allow 
himself  to  be  cheated  by  her  at  bridge,  for  she 
did  not  often  pay,  especially  if  she  lost  to  one 
who  had  been  something  more  than  a  friend. 
When  he  did  present  himself  at  her  house,  she 
felt  a  certain  gladness  apart  from  the  money 
which  he  would  lose;  women  ever  keep  some 
fragment  of  the  heart  which  the  world  is  not 
permitted  to  scar  and  harden  wholly. 

She  grew  pensive,  therefore,  when  he  told  her 
that  he  wished  to  place  a  girl  on  the  concert 
stage,  and  wished  to  know  from  her  how  best 
to  succeed.  She  thought  dreamily  of  other 
days,  and  the  slightest  pin-prick  of  jealousy 
touched  her,  for  Carshaw  had  suddenly  become 
earnest  in  broaching  this  matter,  and  the  other 
pair  of  players  wondered  why  the  game  was  in- 
terrupted for  so  trivial  a  cause. 

"What  is  the  girl's  name!"  she  asked. 

"Her  name  is  of  no  importance,  but,  if  you 


160       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

must  know,  it  is  Winifred  Bartlett,"  he  an- 
swered. 

Senator  Meiklejohn  laid  his  thirteen  cards 
face  upward  on  the  table.  There  had  been  no 
bidding,  and  his  partner  screamed  in  protest: 

"Senator,  what  are  you  doing?" 

He  had  revealed  three  aces  and  a  long  suit 
of  spades. 

"We  must  have  a  fresh  deal,"  smirked  Mrs. 
Tower. 

"Well,  of  all  the  wretched  luck!"  sighed  the 
other  woman.  Meiklejohn  pleaded  a  sudden  in- 
disposition, yet  lingered  while  a  servant  sum- 
moned Ronald  Tower  to  play  in  his  stead. 

Carshaw  knew  Winifred — that  same  Wini- 
fred whom  he  and  his  secret  intimates  had 
sought  so  vainly  during  three  long  weeks! 
Voles  and  his  arm-fractured  henchman  were 
recuperating  in  Boston,  but  Rachel  Craik  and 
Fowle  were  hunting  New  York  high  and  low 
for  sight  of  the  girl. 

Fowle,  though  skilled  in  his  trade,  found  well- 
paid  loafing  more  to  his  choice,  for  Voles  had 
sent  Rachel  to  Fowle,  guessing  this  man  to  be 
of  the  right  kidney  for  underhanded  dealings. 
Moreover,  he  knew  Winifred,  and  would  rec- 
ognize her  anywhere.  Fowle,  therefore,  sud- 
denly blossomed  into  a  "private  detective," 
and  had  reported  steady  failure  day  after  day. 
Bachel  Craik  had  never  ascertained  Carshaw 's 


THE  NEW  LINK  161 

name,  as  it  was  not  necessary  that  he  should 
register  in  the  Fairfield  Inn,  and  Fowle,  with  a 
nose  still  rather  tender  to  the  touch,  never 
spoke  to  her  of  the  man  who  had  smashed  it. 

So  these  associates  in  evil  remained  at  cross- 
purposes  until  Senator  Meiklejohn,  when  the 
bridge  game  was  renewed  and  no  further  in- 
formation was  likely  to  ooze  out,  went  away 
from  Mrs.  Tower's  house  to  nurse  his  sickness. 
He  recovered  speedily.  A  note  was  sent  to 
Eachel  by  special  messenger,  and  she,  in  turn, 
sought  Fowle,  whose  mean  face  showed  a  blot- 
chy red  when  he  learned  that  Winifred  could 
be  traced  by  watching  Carshaw. 

1 1 I'll  get  her  now,  ma'am,"  he  chuckled. 
"It'll  be  dead  easy.  I  can  make  up  as  a  parson. 
Did  that  once  before  when — well,  just  to  fool 
a  bunch  of  people.  No  one  suspects  a  parson 
—see?  I'll  get  her — sure!" 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A   SUBTLE   ATTACK 

VOLES  was  brought  from  Boston.  Though 
Meiklejohn  dreaded  the  man,  conditions  might 
arise  which  would  call  for  a  bold  and  ruthless 
rascality  not  quite  practicable  for  a  Senator. 

The  lapse  of  time,  too,  had  lulled  the  politi- 
cian's suspicions  of  the  police.  They  seemed 
to  have  ceased  prying.  He  ascertained,  almost 
by  chance,  that  Clancy  was  hot  on  the  trail 
of  a  gang  of  counterfeiters.  "The  yacht  my- 
stery ' '  had  apparently  become  a  mere  memory 
in  the  Bureau. 

So  Voles  came,  with  him  Mick  the  Wolf, 
carrying  a  left  arm  in  splints,  and  the  Senator 
thought  he  was  taking  no  risk  in  calling  at  the 
up-town  hotel  where  the  pair  occupied  rooms 
the  day  after  Carshaw  blurted  out  Winifred's 
name  to  Helen  Tower.  He  meant  paying  an- 
other visit  that  day,  so  was  attired  de  rigueur, 
a  fact  at  which  Voles,  pipe  in  mouth  and  loung- 
ing in  pajamas,  promptly  scoffed. 

"Gee!"  he  cried.  "Here's  the  Senator 
mooching  round  again,  dressed  up  to  the  nines 
— dust  coat,  morning  suit,  boots  shining,  all  the 

162 


2  SUBTLE  ATTACK  163 

frills — but  visiting  low  companions  all  the 
same.  Why  doesn't  the  man  turn  over  a  new 
leaf  and  become  good?" 

"Oh,  hold  your  tongue!"  said  "William. 
"We've  got  the  girl,  Ralph!" 

"Got  the  girl,  have  we!  Not  the  first  girl 
you've  said  that  about — is  it,  my  wily  Wil- 
liam?" 

"Listen,  and  drop  that  tone  when  you're 
speaking  to  me,  or  I'll  cut  you  out  for  good 
and  all!"  said  Meiklejohn  in  deadly  earnest. 
"If  ever  you  had  need  to  be  serious,  it  is  now. 
I  said  we've  got  her,  but  that  only  means  that 
we  are  about  to  get  her  address ;  and  the  trouble 
will  be  to  get  herself  afterward." 

"Tosh!  As  to  that,  only  tell  me  where  she 
is,  an'  I'll  go  and  grab  her  by  the  neck." 

"Don't  be  such  a  fool.  This  is  New  York 
and  not  Mexico,  though  you  insist  on  confound- 
ing the  two.  Even  if  the  girl  were  without 
friends,  you  can't  go  and  seize  people  in  that 
fashion  over  here,  and  she  has  at  least  one 
powerful  friend,  for  the  man  who  beat  you 
hollow  that  night,  and  carried  her  off  under 
your  very  nose,  is  Rex  Carshaw,  a  determined 
youngster,  and  rich,  though  not  so  rich  as  he 
thinks  he  is.  And  there  must  be  no  failure  a 
second  time,  Ralph.  Remember  that!  Just 
listen  to  me  carefully.  This  girl  is  thinking  of 
going  on  the  stage!  Do  you  realize  what  that 


164       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

means,  if  she  ever  gets  there?  You  have  your- 
self said  she  is  the  living' image  of  her  mother. 
You  know  that  her  mother  was  well  known  in 
society.  Think,  then,  of  her  appearing  before 
the  public,  and  of  the  certainty  of  her  being 
recognized  by  some  one,  or  by  many,  if  she 
does.  Fall  down  this  time,  and  the  game's  up !" 

"The  thing  seems  to  be,  then,  to  let  daylight 
into  Carshaw,"  said  Voles. 

"Oh,  listen,  man!  Listen!  What  we  have  to 
do  is  to  place  her  in  a  lonely  house — in  the 
country — where,  if  she  screams,  her  screams 
will  not  be  heard;  and  the  only  possibility  of 
bringing  her  there  is  by  ruse,  not  by  violence." 

"Well,  and  how  get  her  there?" 

"That  has  to  be  carefully  planned,  and  even 
more  carefully  executed.  It  seems  to  me  that 
the  mere  fact  of  her  wishing  to  go  on  the  stage 
may  be  made  a  handle  to  serve  our  ends.  If 
we  can  find  a  dramatic  agent  with  whom  she 
is  in  treaty,  we  must  obtain  a  sheet  of  his  office 
paper,  and  write  her  a  letter  in  his  name,  mak- 
ing an  appointment  with  her  at  an  empty  house 
in  the  country,  some  little  distance  from  New 
York.  None  of  the  steps  presents  any  great 
difficulty.  In  fact,  all  that  part  I  undertake 
myself.  It  will  be  for  you,  your  friend  Mick, 
and  Rachel  Craik  to  receive  her  and  keep  her 
eternally  when  you  once  have  her.  You  may 
then  be  able  so  to  work  upon  her  as  to  persuade 


'A  SUBTLE  'ATTACK  165 

her  to  go  quietly  with  you  to  South  America  or 
England.  In  any  case,  we  shall  have  shut  her 
away  from  the  world,  which  is  our  object." 

"Poor  stuff!  How  about  this  Carshaw? 
Suppose  he  goes  with  her  to  keep  the  appoint- 
ment, or  learns  from  her  beforehand  of  it? 
Carshaw  must  be  wiped  out." 

"He  must  certainly  be  dealt  with,  yes,"  said 
Meiklejohn,  "but  in  another  manner.  I  think 
— I  think  I  see  my  way.  Leave  him  to  me.  I 
want  this  girl  out  of  New  York  State  in  the 
first  instance.  Suppose  you  go  to  the  Oranges, 
in  New  Jersey,  pick  out  a  suitable  house,  and 
rent  iff  Go  to-day." 

Voles  raised  his  shaggy  eyebrows. 

"What's  the  rush?"  he  said  amusedly. 
"After  eighteen  years — " 

"Will  you  never  learn  reason?  Every  hour, 
every  minute,  may  bring  disaster." 

"Oh,  have  it  your  way!  I'll  fix  Carshaw  if  he 
camps  on  my  trail  a  second  time." 

Meiklejohn  returned  to  his  car  with  a  care- 
searned  brow.  He  was  bound  now  for  Mrs. 
Carshaw 's  apartment. 

If  he  was  fortunate  enough  to  find  her  in, 
and  alone,  he  would  take  that  first  step  in  ' '  deal- 
ing with"  her  son  which  he  had  spoken  of  to 
Voles.  He  made  no  prior  appointment  by 
phone.  He  meant  catching  her  unawares,  so 
that  Rex  could  have  no  notion  of  his  presence. 


166       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

Mrs.  Carshaw  was  a  substantial  lady  of  fifty, 
a  society  woman  of  the  type  to  whom  the 
changing  seasons  supply  the  whole  duty  of  man 
and  woman,  and  the  world  outside  the  orbit 
of  the  Four  Hundred  is  a  rumor  of  no  import/ 
ance. 

She  had  met  Senator  Meiklejohn  in  so  many 
places  for  so  many  years  that  they  might  be 
called  comrades  in  the  task  of  dining  and  mak- 
ing New  York  look  elegant.  She  was  pleased  to 
see  him.  Their  common  fund  of  scandal  and 
epigram  would  carry  them  safely  over  a  cheer- 
ful hour. 

"And  as  to  the  good  old  firm  of  Carshaw — 
prosperous  as  usual,  I  hope*"  said  Meiklejohn, 
balancing  an  egg-shell  tea-cup. 

Mrs.  Carshaw  shrugged. 

"I  don't  know  much  about  it,"  she  said,  ''but 
I  sometimes  hear  talk  of  bad  times  and  lack  of 
capital.  I  suppose  it  is  all  right.  Rex  does  not 
seem  concerned." 

1  'Ah!  but  the  mischief  may  be  just  there," 
said  Meiklejohn  ' '  The  rogue  may  be  throwing 
it  all  on  the  shoulders  of  his  managers,  and  let- 
ting things  slide." 

"He  may — he  probably  is.  I  see  very  little 
of  him,  really,  especially  just  lately." 

"Is  it  the  same  little  influence  at  work  upon 
him  as  some  months  ago!"  asked  Meiklejohn, 
bending  nearer,  a  real  confidential  crony. 


'A  SUBTLE  ATTACK  167 

" Which  same  little  influence?"  asked  the 
lady,  agog  with  a  sense  of  secrecy,  and  genu- 
inely anxious  as  to  anything  affecting  her 
son. 

''Why,  the  girl,  Winifred  Bartlett." 

"Bartlett!  As  far  as  know,  I  have  never 
even  heard  her  name." 

"Extraordinary!  Why,  it's  the  talk  of  the 
club." 

"Tell  me.    What  is  it  all  about!" 

"Ah,  I  must  not  be  indiscreet.  When  I  men- 
tioned her,  I  took  it  for  granted  that  you  knew 
all  about  it,  or  I  should  not  have  told  tales  out 
of  school. ' ' 

"Yes,  but  you  and  I  are  of  a  different  gener- 
ation than  Bex.  He  belongs  to  the  spring,  we 
belong  to  the  autumn.  There  is  no  question  of 
telling  tales  out  of  school  as  between  you  and 
him.  So  now,  please,  you  are  going  to  tell  me 
all." 

'  *  Well,  the  usual  story :  A  girl  of  lower  social 
class;  a  young  man's  head  turned  by  her  wiles; 
the  conventions  more  or  less  defied;  business 
yawned  at ;  mother,  friends,  everything  shelved 
for  the  time  being,  and  nothing  important  but 
the  one  thing.  It's  not  serious,  perhaps.  So 
long  as  business  is  not  too  much  neglected,  and 
no  financial  consequences  follow,  society  thinks 
not  a  whit  worse  of  a  young  man  on  that  account 
— on  one  condition,  mark  you !  There  must  bo 


168        THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

no  question  of  marriage.    But  in  this  case  there 
is  that  question." 

"But  this  is  merely  ridiculous!"  laughed 
Mrs.  Carshaw  shrilly.  "Marriage!  Can  a  son 
of  mine  be  so  quixotic?" 

"It  is  commonly  believed  that  he  is  about  to 
marry  her. ' ' 

"But  how  on  earth  has  it  happened  that  I 
never  heard  a  whisper  of  this  preposterous 
thing?" 

"It  is  extraordinary.  Sometimes  the  one 
interested  is  the  last  to  hear  what  every  one  is 
talking  about." 

"Well,  I  never  was  so — amused!"  Yet  Mrs. 
Carshaw's  wintry  smile  was  not  joyous.  "Rex! 
I  must  laugh  him  out  of  it,  if  I  meet  him  any- 
where ! ' ' 

*  *  That  you  will  not  succeed  in  doing,  I  think. ' ' 

"Well,  then  I'll  frown  him  out  of  it.  This  is 
why — I  see  all  now. ' ' 

f '  There  you  are  hardly  wise,  to  think  of  either 
laughing  or  frowning  him  out  of  it,"  said 
Meiklejohn,  offering  her  wordly  wisdom.  "No, 
in  such  cases  there  is  a  better  way,  take  my 
word  for  it." 

"And  that  is?" 

"Approach  the  girl.  Avoid  carefully  saying 
one  word  to  the  young  man,  but  approach  the 
girl.  That  does  it,  if  the  girl  is  at  all  decent, 
and  has  any  sensibility.  Lay  the  facts  plainly 


A  SUBTLE  ATTACK  169 

before  her.  Take  her  into  your  confidence — 
this  flatters  her.  Invoke  her  love  for  the  young 
man  whom  she  is  hurting  by  her  intimacy  with 
him — this  puts  her  on  her  honor.  Urge  her  to 
fly  from  him — this  makes  her  feel  herself  a 
martyr,  and  turns  her  on  the  heroic  tack.  That 
is  certainly  what  I  should  do  if  I  were  you,  and 
I  should  do  it  without  delay." 

"  You  're  right.  I'll  do  it,"  said  Mrs.  Car- 
shaw.  "Do  you  happen  to  know  where  this 
girl  is  to  be  found ? ' ' 

"No.  I  think  I  can  tell,  though,  from  whom 
you  might  get  the  address — Helen  Tower.  I 
heard"  your  son  talking  to  her  last  night  about 
the  girl.  He  was  wanting  to  know  whether 
Helen  could  put  him  in  the  way  of  placing  her 
on  the  stage." 

"What !  Is  she  one  of  those  scheming  chorus- 
girls?" 

"It  appears  so." 

"But  has  he  had  the  effrontery  to  mention 
her  in  this  way  to  other  ladies?  It  is  rather 
amusing!  Why,  it  used  to  be  said  that  Helen 
Tower  was  his  belle  amie." 

"All  the  more  reason,  perhaps,  why  she  may 
be  willing  to  give  you  the  address,  if  she  knows 
it." 

"I'll  see  her  this  very  afternoon." 

' '  Then  I  must  leave  you  at  leisure  now, ' '  said 
Meiklejohn  sympathetically. 


170       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

An  hour  later  Mrs.  Carshaw  was  with  Helen 
Tower,  and  the  name  of  Winifred  Bartlett  arose 
between  them. 

"But  he  did  not  give  me  her  address," 
said  Mrs.  Tower.  "Do  you  want  it  pres- 
singly?" 

"Why,  yes.  Have  you  not  heard  that  there 
is  a  question  of  marriage?" 

' '  Good  gracious !    Marriage  ? ' ' 

The  two  women  laid  their  heads  nearer 
together,  enjoying  the  awfulness  of  the  thing, 
though  one  was  a  mother  and  the  other  was 
pricked  with  jealousy  in  some  secret  part  of  her 
nature. 

"Yes — marriage!"  repeated  the  mother. 
Such  an  enormity  was  dreadful. 

"It  sounds  too  far-fetched!  What  will  you 
do?" 

"Senator  Meiklejohn  recommends  me  to 
approach  the  girl. ' ' 

"Well,  perhaps  that  is  the  best.  But  how  to 
get  her  address?  Perhaps  if  I  asked  Eex  he 
would  tell  it,  without  suspecting  anything.  On 
the  other  hand,  he  might  take  alarm." 

"Couldn't  you  say  you  had  secured  her  a 
place  on  the  stage,  and  make  him  send  her  to 
you,  to  test  her  voice,  or  something?  And  then 
you  could  send  her  on  to  me,"  said  the  elder 
woman. 

"Yes,  that  might  be  done,"  answered  Helen 


A.  SUBTLE  ATTACK  171 

Tower.  "I'd  like  to  see  her,  too.  She  must  be 
extraordinarily  pretty  to  capture  Rex.  Some 
of  those  common  girls  are,  you  know.  It  is  a 
caprice  of  Providence.  Anyway,  I  shall  find 
her  out,  or  have  her  here  somehow  within  the 
next  few  days,  and  will  let  you  know.  First  of 
all,  I'll  write  Rex  and  ask  him  to  come  for 
bridge  to-night." 

She  did  this,  but  without  effect,  for  GarshaW 
was  engaged  elsewhere,  having  taken  Winifred 
to  a  theater. 

However,  Meiklejohn  was  again  at  the  bridge 
party,  and  when  he  asked  whether  Mrs.  Car- 
shaw  had  paid  a  visit  that  afternoon,  and  the 
address  of  the  girl  had  been  given,  Helen  Tow- 
er answered: 

"I  don't  know  it.  I  am  now  trying  to  find 
out." 

The  Senator  seemed  to  take  thought. 

"I  hate  interfering,"  he  said  at  last,  "but  I 
like  young  Carshaw,  and  have  known  his  mother 
many  a  year.  It's  a  pity  he  should  throw  him- 
self away  on  some  chit  of  a  girl,  merely  because 
she  has  a  fetching  pair  of  eyes  or  a  slim  ankle, 
or  Heaven  alone  knows  what  else  it  is  that  first 
turns  a  young  man's  mind  to  a  young  woman. 
I  happen  to  have  heard,  however,  that  Winifred 
Bartlett  lives  in  a  boarding-house  kept  by  Miss 
Goodman  in  East  Twenty-Seventh  Street. 
Now,  my  name  must  not — " 


172       TEE  BAETLETT  MYSTERY 

Helen  Tower  laughed  in  that  dry  way  which 
often  annoyed  him. 

"  Surely  by  this  time  you  regard  me  as  a 
trustworthy  person,"  she  said. 

So  Fowle  had  proven  himself  a  capable 
tracker,  and  Winifred's  persecutors  were  again 
closing  in  on  her.  But  who  would  have  imag- 
ined that  the  worst  and  most  deadly  of  them 
might  be  the  mother  of  her  Rex?  That,  surely, 
was  something  akin  to  steeping  in  poison  the 
assassin's  dagger. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  VISITOR. 

you  Miss  Winifred  Bartlett?"  asked 
Mrs.  Carshaw  the  next  afternoon  in  that  remote 
part  of  East  Twenty-Seventh  Street  which  for 
the  first  time  bore  the  rubber  tires  of  her  lim- 
ousine. 

"Yes,  madam,'*  said  Winifred,  who  stood 
rather"  pale  before  that  large  and  elegant  pres- 
ence. It  was  in  the  front  room  of  the  two  which 
Winifred  occupied. 

"But — where  have  I  seen  you  before?"  asked 
Mrs.  Carshaw  suddenly,  making  play  with  a 
pair  of  mounted  eye-glasses. 

"I  cannot  say,  madam.   Will  you  be  seated?" 

"What  a  pretty  girl  you  are!"  exclaimed  the 
visitor,  wholly  unconscious  of  the  calm  insol- 
ence which  "society"  uses  to  its  inferiors. 
"I'm  certain  I  have  seen  you  somewhere,  for 
your  face  is  perfectly  familiar,  but  for  the  life 
of  me  I  cannot  recall  the  occasion." 

Mrs.  Carshaw  was  not  mistaken.  Some  dim 
cell  of  memory  was  stirred  by  the  girl's  like- 
ness to  her  mother.  For  once  Senator  Meikle- 
john's  scheming  had  brought  him  to  the  edge  of 

173 


174       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

the  precipice.  But  the  dangerous  moment 
passed.  Rex's  mother  was  thinking  of  other 
and  more  immediate  matters.  Winifred  stood 
silent,  scared,  with  a  foreboding  of  the  meaning 
of  this  tremendous  visit. 

"Now,  I  am  come  to  have  a  quiet  chat  with 
you,"  said  Mrs.  Carshaw,  "and  I  only  hope 
that  you  will  look  on  me  as  a  friend,  and  be  per- 
fectly at  your  ease.  I  am  sorry  the  nature  of 
my  visit  is  not  of  a  quite  pleasant  nature,  but 
no  doubt  we  shall  be  able  to  understand  each 
other,  for  you  look  good  and  sweet.  Where 
have  I  seen  you  before?  You  are  a  sweetly 
pretty  girl,  do  you  know?  I  can't  altogether 
blame  poor  Rex,  for  men  are  not  very  rational 
creatures,  are  they?  Come,  now,  and  sit  quite 
near  beside  me  on  this  chair,  and  let  me  talk  to 
you. ' ' 

Winifred  came  and  sat,  with  tremulous  lip, 
not  saying  a  word. 

' '  First,  I  wish  to  know  something  about  your- 
self," said  Mrs.  Carshaw,  trying  honestly  to 
adopt  a  motherly  tone.  "Do  you  live  here  all 
alone?  Where  are  your  parents?" 

"I  have  none — as  far  as  I  know.  Yes,  I  live 
here  alone,  for  the  present." 

"But  no  relatives?" 

"I  have  an  aunt — a  sort  of  aunt — but — " 

"You  are  mysterious — 'a  sort  of  aunt.'  And 
is  this  'sort  of  aunt'  with  you  here?" 


TEE  VISITOR  175 

' '  No.  I  used  to  live  with  her,  but  within  the 
last  month  we  have — separated." 

"Is  that  my  son's  doings?" 

"No— that  is— no." 

"So  you  are  quite  alone?" 

"Yes." 

"And  my  son  comes  to  see  you?" 

"He  comes — yes,  he  comes." 

"But  that  is  rather  defiant  of  everything,  is 
it  not?" 

A  blush  of  almost  intense  carmine  washed 
Winifred's  face  and  neck.  Mrs.  Carshaw  knew 
how  to  strike  hard.  Every  woman  knows  how 
to  hurt  another  woman. 

"Miss  Goodman,  my  landlady,  usually  stays 
in  here  when  he  comes,"  said  she. 

"All  the  time?" 

"Most  of  the  time." 

"Well,  I  must  not  catechise  you.  No  one 
woman  has  the  right  to  do  that  to  another,  and 
you  are  sweet  to  have  answered  me  at  all.  I 
think  you  are  good  and  true ;  and  you  will  there- 
fore find  it  all  the  easier  to  sympathize  with  my 
motives,  which  have  your  own  good  at  heart,  as 
well  as  my  son's.  First  of  all,  do  you  under- 
stand that  my  son  is  very  much  in  love  with 
you?" 

"I — you  should  not  ask  me — I  may  have 
thought  that  he  liked  me.  Has — he — told  you 
so!" 


176       TEE  BAETLETT  MYSTERY 

"He  has  never  mentioned  your  name  to  me. 
I  never  knew  of  your  existence  till  yesterday. 
But  it  is  so ;  he  is  fond  of  you,  to  such  an  un- 
usual extent,  that  quite  a  scandal  has  arisen  in 
his  social  set — " 

"Not  about  me?" 

"Yes." 

"But  there  is  nothing " 

"Yes;  it  is  reported  that  he  intends  to  marry 
you. ' ' 

"And  is  that  what  the  scandal  is  about?  I 
thought  the  scandal  was  when  you  did  not 
marry,  not  when  you  did." 

Mrs.  Carshaw  permitted  herself  to  be  sur- 
prised. She  had  not  looked  for  such  weapons  in 
Winifred's  armory.  But  she  was  there  to  carry 
out  what  she  deemed  an  almost  sacred  mission, 
and  the  righteous  can  be  horribly  unjust. 

"Yes,  in  the  middle  classes,  but  not  in  the 
upper,  which  has  its  own  moral  code — not  a 
strictly  Biblical  one,  perhaps,"  she  retorted 
glibly.  "With  us  the  scandal  is  not  that  you 
and  my  son  are  friends,  but  that  he  should  seri- 
ously think  of  marrying  you,  since  you  are  on 
such  different  levels.  You  see,  I  speak  plainly." 

Winifred  suddenly  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands.  For  the  first  time  she  measured  the 
great  gulf  yawning  between  her  and  that  dear 
hope  growing  up  in  her  heart. 

"That  is  how  the  matter  stands  before  mar- 


TEE  VISITOR  177 

riage,"  went  on  Mrs.  Carshaw,  sure  that  she 
was  kind  in  being  merciless.  "You  can  con- 
ceive how  it  would  be  afterwards.  And  society 
is  all  nature — it  never  forgives;  or,  if  it  for- 
gives, it  may  condone  sins,  but  never  an  in- 
discretion. Nor  must  you  think  that  your  love 
would  console  my  son  for  the  great  social  loss 
which  his  connection  with  you  threatens  to 
bring  on  him.  It  will  console  him  for  a  month, 
but  a  wife  is  not  a  world,  nor,  however  beloved, 
does  she  compensate  for  the  loss  of  the  world. 
If,  therefore,  you  love  my  son,  as  I  take  it  that 
you  do — do  you?" 

Winifred's  face  was  covered.  She  did  not 
answer. 

"Tell  me  in  confidence.  I  am  a  woman,  too, 
and  know — ' 

A  sob  escaped  from  the  poor  bowed  head. 
Mrs.  Carshaw  was  moved.  She  had  not  counted 
on  so  hard  a  task.  She  had  even  thought  of 
money ! 

* '  Poor  thing !  That  will  make  your  duty  very 
hard.  I  wish — but  there  is  no  use  in  wishing! 
Necessity  knows  no  pity.  Winifred,  you  must 
summon  all  your  strength  of  mind,  and  get  out 
of  this  false  position." 

1 '  What  am  I  to  do  ?  What  can  I  do  V '  wailed 
Winifred.  She  was  without  means  or  occupa- 
tion, and  could  not  fly  from  the  house. 

"You  can  go  away,"  said  Mrs.  Carshaw, 


"without  letting  him  know  whither  you  have 
gone,  and  till  you  go  you  can  throw  cold  water 
on  his  passion  by  pretending  dislike  or  indiffer- 
ence— " 

"But  could  I  do  such  a  thing,  even  if  I 
tried?"  came  the  despairing  cry. 

"It  will  be  hard,  certainly,  but  a  woman 
should  be  able  to  accomplish  everything  for  the 
man  she  loves.  Remember  for  whose  sake  you 
will  be  doing  it,  and  promise  me  before  I  leave 
you. ' ' 

1  *  Oh,  you  should  give  me  time  to  think  before 
I  promise  anything,"  sobbed  Winifred.  "I 
believe  I  shall  go  mad.  I  am  the  most  unfor- 
tunate girl  that  ever  lived.  I  did  not  seek  him 
• — he  sought  me ;  and  now,  when  I—  Have  you 
no  pity?" 

' '  You  see  that  I  have — not  only  pity,  but  con- 
fidence. It  is  hard,  but  I  feel  that  you  will  rise 
to  it.  I,  and  you,  are  acting  for  Rex's  sake,  and 
I  hope,  I  believe,  you  will  do  your  share  in  sav- 
ing him.  And  now  I  must  go,  leaving  my  sting 
behind  me.  I  am  so  sorry!  I  never  dreamed 
that  I  should  like  you  so  well.  I  have  seen  you 
before  somewhere — it  seems  to  me  in  an  old 
dream.  Good-by,  good-by!  It  had  to  be  done, 
and  I  have  done  it,  but  not  gladly.  Heaven  help 
us  women,  and  especially  all  mothers!" 

Winifred  could  not  answer.  She  was  choked 
with  sobs,  so  Mrs.  Carshaw  took  her  departure 


TEE  VISITOR  179 

in  a  kind  of  stealthy  haste.  She  was  far  more 
unhappy  now  than  when  she  entered  that  quiet 
house.  She  came  in  bristling  with  resolution. 
She  went  out,  seemingly  victorious,  but  feeling 
small  and  mean. 

When  she  was  gone  Winifred  threw  herself 
on  a  couch  with  buried  head,  and  was  still  there 
an  hour  later  when  Miss  Goodman  brought  up  a 
letter.  It  was  from  a  dramatic  agent  whom  she 
had  often  haunted  for  work — or  rather  it  was 
a  letter  on  his  office  paper,  making  an  appoint- 
ment between  her  and  a  " manager"  at  some 
high-sounding  address  in  East  Orange,  New 
Jersey,  when,  the  writer  said,  "business  might 
result. ' ' 

She  had  hardly  read  it  when  Rex  Carshaw's 
tap  came  to  the  door. 

About  that  same  time  Steingall  threw  a  note 
across  his  office  table  to  Clancy,  who  was  there 
to  announce  that  in  a  house  in  Brooklyn  a  fine 
haul  of  coiners,  dies,  presses,  and  other  illicit 
articles,  human  and  inanimate,  had  just  been 
made. 

"Ralph  V.  Voles  and  his  bad  man  from  the 
West  have  come  back  to  New  York  again," 
said  the  chief.  "You  might  give  'em  an  eye." 

"Why  on  earth  doesn't  Carshaw  marry  the 
girl?"  said  Clancy. 

"I  dunno.    He's  straight,  isn't  he?" 

"Strikes  me  that  way." 


180       TEE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

"Me,  too.  Anyhow,  let's  pick  up  a  few 
threads.  I've  a  notion  that  Senator  Meiklejohn 
thinks  he  has  side-stepped  the  Bureau." 

Clancy  laughed.  His  mirth  was  grotesque 
as  the  grin  of  one  of  those  carved  ivories  of 
Japan,  and  to  the  effect  of  the  crinkled  features 
was  added  a  shrill  cackle.  The  chief  glanced 
up. 

"Don't  do  that,"  he  said  sharply.  "You  get 
my  goat  when  you  make  that  beastly  noise!" 

These  two  were  beginning  again  to  snap  at 
each  other  about  the  Senator  and  his  affairs, 
and  their  official  quarrels  usually  ended  badly 
for  the  other  fellow. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

WINIFRED  DRIFTS 

WINIFRED,  pale  as  death,  rose  to  receive  her 
lover,  with  that  letter  in  her  hand  which  made 
an  appointment  with  her  at  a  house  in  East 
Orange;  a  letter  which  she  believed  to  have 
been  written  by  a  dramatic  agent,  but  which 
was  actually  inspired  by  Senator  Meiklejohn. 
It  was  the  bait  of  the  trap  which  should  put  her 
once  more  in  the  power  of  Meiklejohn  and  his 
accomplices. 

During  a  few  tense  seconds  the  girl  prayed 
for  power  to  play  the  bitter  part  which  had 
been  thrust  upon  her — to  play  it  well  for  the 
sake  of  the  man  who  loved  her,  and  whom  she 
loved.  The  words  of  his  mother  were  still  in 
her  ears.  She  had  to  make  him  think  that  she 
did  not  care  for  him.  In  the  last  resort  she  had 
to  fly  from  him.  She  had  tacitly  promised  to 
do  this  woeful  thing. 

Far  enough  from  her  innocent  mind  was  it 
to  dream  that  the  visit  of  Rex's  mother  had 
been  brought  about  by  her  enemies  in  order  to 
deprive  her  of  a  protector  and  separate  her 

181 


182       THE  BAETLETT  MYSTERY 

from  her  lover  at  the  very  time  when  he  was 
most  necessary  to  save  her. 

Carshaw  entered  in  high  spirits.  "Well,  I 
have  news — "  he  began.  "But,  hello!  What's 
the  matter?" 

"With  whom?"  asked  Winifred. 

"You  look  pale." 

"Do  I?    It  is  nothing." 

"You  have  been  crying,  surely." 

"Havel?" 

"Tell  me.    What  is  wrong?" 

"Why  should  I  tell  you,  if  anything  is 
Wrong?" 

He  stood  amazed  at  this  speech.  "Odd 
words,"  said  he,  looking  at  her  in  a  stupor  of 
surprise,  almost  of  anger.  "Whom  should  you 
tell  but  me?" 

This  touched  Winifred,  and,  struggling  with 
the  lump  in  her  throat,  she  said,  unsteadily:  "I 
am  not  very  well  to-day;  if  you  will  leave  me 
now,  and  come  perhaps  some  other  time,  you 
will  oblige  me." 

Carshaw  strode  nearer  and  caught  her  shoul- 
der. 

* '  But  what  a  tone  to  me !  Have  I  done  some- 
thing wrong,  I  wonder?  Winnie,  what  is 
it?" 

"I  have  told  you  I  am  not  very  well.  I  do  not 
desire  your  company — to-day." 

"Whew!    What  majesty!    It  must  be  gome- 


WINIFRED  DRIFTS  183 

thing  outrageous.  But  what?  Won't  you  be 
dear  and  kind,  and  tell  me!" 

"You  have  done  nothing." 

"Yes,  I  have.  I  think  I  can  guess.  I  spoke 
of  Helen  Tower  yesterday  as  of  an  old  sweet- 
heart— was  that  it?  And  it  is  all  jealousy. 
Surely  I  didn't  say  much.  What  on  earth  did 
I  say?  That  she  was  like  a  Gainsborough;  that 
she  was  rather  a  beauty;  that  she  was  elancee 
at  twenty- two.  But  I  didn't  mean  any  harm. 
Why,  it's  jealousy!" 

At  this  Winifred  drew  herself  up  to  dis- 
charge a  thunderbolt,  and  though  she  winced  at 
the  Olympian  effort,  managed  to  say  distinctly : 

' '  There  can  be  no  jealousy  where  there  is  no 
love." 

Carshaw  stood  silent,  momentarily  stunned, 
like  one  before  whom  a  thunderbolt  has  really 
exploded.  At  last,  looking  at  the  pattern  of  a 
frayed  carpet,  he  said  humbly  enough: 

"Well,  then,  I  must  be  a  very  unfortunate 
sort  of  man,  Winifred." 

"Don't  believe  me!"  Winifred  wished  to  cry 
out.  But  the  words  were  checked  on  her  white 
lips.  The  thought  arose  in  her,  "He  that  put- 
teth  his  hand  to  the  plow  and  looketh  back — " 

"It  is  sudden,  this  truth  that  you  tell  me," 
went  on  Carshaw.  "Is  it  a  truth?" 

"Yes." 

"You  are  not  fond  of  me,  Winnie?" 


184       TEE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY, 

"I  have  a  liking  for  you." 

"That  all?" 

"That  is  all." 

"Don't  say  it,  dear.    I  suffer." 

"Do  you?  No,  don't  suffer.  I — can't  help 
myself. ' ' 

"You  are  sorry  for  me,  then?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

"But  how  came  I,  then,  to  have  the  opposite 
impression  so  strongly?  I  think — I  can't  help 
thinking — that  it  was  your  fault,  dear.  You 
made  me  hope,  perhaps  without  meaning  me  to, 
that — that  life  was  to  be  happy  for  me.  When 
I  entered  that  door  just  now  no  man  in  New 
York  had  a  lighter  step  than  I,  or  a  more  care- 
less heart.  I  shall  go  out  of  it — different,  dear. 
You  should  not  have  allowed  me  to  think — 
what  I  did ;  and  you  should  not  have  told  me  the 
truth  so — quite  so — suddenly." 

"Sit  down.  You  are  not  fair  to  me.  I  did 
not  know  you  cared — " 

"You — you  did  not  know  that  I  cared?  Come, 
that's  not  true,  girl!" 

"Not  so  much,  I  mean — not  quite  so  much. 
I  thought  that  you  were  flirting  with  me,  as  I — • 
perhaps — was  flirting  with  you." 

"Who  is  that  I  hear  speaking?  Is  it  Wini- 
fred? The  very  sound  of  her  voice  seems  dif- 
ferent. Am  I  dreaming?  She  flirting  with  me ? 
I  don't  realize  her — it  is  a  different  girl!  Qh\ 


WINIFRED  DRIFTS  185 

this  thing  comes  to  me  like  a  falling  steeple. 
It  had  no  right  to  happen ! ' ' 

"You  should  sit  down,  or  you  should  go; 
better  go — better,  better  go,"  and  Winifred 
clutched  wildly  at  her  throat.  "Let  us  part 
now,  and  let  us  never  meet ! ' ' 

"If  you  like,  if  you  wish  it,"  said  Carshaw, 
still  humbly,  for  he  was  quite  dazed.  "It  seems 
sudden.  I  am  not  sure  if  it  is  a  dream  or  not. 
It  isn't  a  happy  one,  if  it  is.  But  have  we  no 
business  to  discuss  before  you  send  me  away  in 
this  fashion!  Do  you  mean  to  throw  off  my 
help  as  well  as  myself?" 

"I  shall  manage.  I  have  an  offer  of  work 
here  in  my  hands.  I  shall  soon  be  at  work, 
and  will  then  send  the  amount  of  the  debt  which 
I  owe  you,  though  you  care  nothing  about  that, 
and  I  know  that  I  can  never  repay  you  for  all. ' ' 

"Yes,  that  is  true,  too,  in  a  way.  Am  I,  then, 
actually  to  go?" 

"Yes." 

"But  you  are  not  serious?  Think  of  my  living 
on,  days  and  years,  and  not  seeing  you  any 
more.  It  seems  a  pitiable  thing,  too.  Even  you 
must  be  sorry  for  me." 

"Yes,  it  seems  a  pitiable  thing!" 

"So — what  do  you  say?" 

"Good-by.    Go— go!" 

"But  you  will  at  least  let  me  know  where 
you  are?  Don't  be  quite  lost  to  me." 


186       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

"I  shall  be  here  for  some  time.  But  you 
won't  come.  I  mustn't  see  you.  I  demand 
that  much." 

"No,  no.  I  won't  come,  you  may  be  sure. 
And  you,  on  your  part,  promise  that  if  you 
have  need  of  money  you  will  let  me  know? 
That  is  the  least  I  can  expect  of  you." 

"I  will;  but  go.  I  will  have  you  in  my — • 
memory.  Only  go  from  me  now,  if  you — » 
love — " 

"Good-by,  then.  I  do  not  understand,  but 
good-by.  I  am  all  in,  Winnie;  but  still,  good- 
by.  God  bless  you — " 

He  kissed  her  hand  and  went.  Her  skin  was 
cold  to  his  lips,  and,  in  a  numb  way,  he  won- 
dered why.  A  moment  after  he  had  disap- 
peared she  called  his  name,  but  in  an  awful, 
hushed  voice  which  he  could  not  hear;  and  she 
fell  at  her  length  on  the  couch. 

"Rex!  My  love!  My  dear  love,"  she 
moaned,  and  yet  he  did  not  hear,  for  the  sky 
had  propped  on  him. 

There  she  lay  a  little  while,  yet  it  was  not  all 
pain  with  her.  There  is  one  sweetest  sweet 
to  the  heart,  one  drop  of  intensest  honey, 
sweeter  to  it  than  any  wormwood  is  bitter, 
which  consoled  her — the  consciousness  of  self- 
sacrifice,  of  duty  done,  of  love  lost  for  love's 
sake.  Mrs.  Carshaw  had  put  the  girl  on  what 
Senator  Meiklejohn  cynically  called  "the  heroic 


WINIFRED  DRIFTS  187 

tack";  and,  having  gone  on  that  tack,  Wini- 
fred deeply  understood  that  there  was  a  secret 
smile  in  it,  and  a  surprising  light.  She  lay 
catching  her  breath  till  Miss  Goodman  brought 
up  the  tea-tray,  expecting  to  find  the  cheery 
Carshaw  there  as  usual,  for  she  had  not  heard 
him  go  out. 

Instead,  she  found  Winifred  sobbing  on  the 
couch,  for  Winifred's  grief  was  of  that  depth 
which  ceases  to  care  if  it  is  witnessed  by  others. 
The  good  landlady  came,  therefore,  and  knelt 
by  Winifred's  side,  put  her  arm  about  her,  and 
began  to  console  and  question  her.  The  con- 
solation did  no  good,  but  the  questions  did. 
For,  if  one  is  persistently  questioned,  one  must 
answer  something  sooner  or  later,  and  the 
mind's  effort  to  answer  breaks  the  thread  of 
grief,  and  so  the  commonplace  acts  as  a  medi- 
cine to  tragedy. 

In  the  end  Winifred  was  obliged  to  sit  up  and 
go  to  the  table  where  the  tea-things  were.  This 
was  in  itself  a  triumph ;  and  her  effort  to  secure 
solitude  and  get  rid  of  Miss  Goodman  was  a 
further  help  toward  throwing  off  her  mood  of 
despair.  By  the  time  Miss  Goodman  was  gone 
the  storm  was  somewhat  calmed. 

During  that  sad  evening,  which  she  spent 
alone,  she  read  once  more  the  le'tter  making 
the  appointment  with  her  at  East  Orange. 
Now,  reading  it  a  second  time,  she  felt  a  twinge 


188       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

of  doubt.  Who  could  it  be,  she  wondered,  whom 
she  would  have  to  see  there?  East  Orange 
was  some  way  off.  A  meeting  of  this  sort  usu- 
ally took  place  in  New  York,  at  an  office. 

Her  mind  was  not  at  all  given  to  suspicions, 
but  on  reading  over  the  letter  for  the  third 
time,  she  now  noticed  that  the  signature  was 
not  in  the  handwriting  of  the  agent.  She  knew 
his  writing  quite  well,  for  he  had  sent  her  other 
letters.  This  writing  was,  indeed,  something 
like  his,  but  certainly  not  his.  It  might  be  a 
clerk's;  the  letter  was  typed  on  his  office 
paper. 

To  say  that  she  was  actually  disturbed  by 
these  little  rills  of  doubt  would  not  be  quite 
true.  Still,  they  did  arise  in  her  mind,  and  left 
her  not  perfectly  at  ease.  The  touch  of  un- 
easiness, however,  made  her  ask  herself  why 
she  should  now  become  a  singer  at  all.  It  was 
Carshaw  who  had  pressed  it  upon  her,  because 
she  had  insisted  on  the  vital  necessity  of  doing 
something  quickly,  and  he  had  not  wished  her 
to  work  again  with  her  hands.  In  reality,  he 
was  scheming  to  gain  time. 

Now  that  they  were  parted  she  saw  no  reason 
why  she  should  not  throw  off  all  this  stage  am- 
bition, and  toil  like  other  girls  as  good  as  she. 
She  had  done  it.  She  was  skilled  in  the  book- 
binding craft;  she  might  do  it  again.  She 
counted  her  money  and  saw  that  she  had  enough 


WINIFRED  DRIFTS  189 

to  carry  her  on  a  week,  or  even  two,  with  econ- 
omy. Therefore,  she  had  time  in  which  to  seek 
other  work. 

Even  if  she  did  not  find  it  she  would  have 
not  the  slightest  hesitation  in  "borrowing" 
from  Rex ;  for,  after  all,  all  that  he  had  was  hers 
— she  knew  it,  and  he  knew  it.  Before  she  went 
to  bed  she  decided  to  throw  up  the  singing  am- 
bition, not  to  go  to  the  appointment  at  East 
Orange,  but  to  seek  some  other  more  modest 
occupation. 

About  that  same  hour  Rex  Carshaw  walked 
desolately  to  the  apartment  in  Madison  Avenue. 
He  threw  himself  into  a  chair  and  propped  his 
head  on  a  hand,  saying:  "Well,  mother!"  for 
Mrs.  Carshaw  was  in  the  room. 

His  mother  glanced  anxiously  at  him,  for 
though  Winifred  had  promised  to  keep  secret 
the  fact  of  her  visit,  she  was  in  fear  lest  some 
hint  of  it  might  have  crept  out;  nor  had  she 
foreseen  quite  so  deadly  an  effect  on  her  son  as 
was  now  manifest.  He  looked  careworn  and 
weary,  and  the  maternal  heart  throbbed. 

She  came  and  stood  over  him.  "Rex,  you 
don't  look  well,"  said  he. 

"No;  perhaps  I'm  not  very  well,  mother," 
said  he  listlessly. 

"Can  I  do  anything?" 

"No;  I'm  rather  afraid  that  the  mischief  is 
beyond  you,  mother." 


190       TEE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

"Poor  boy!  It  is  some  trouble,  I  know. 
Perhaps  it  would  do  you  good  to  tell  me." 

"No;  don't  worry,  mother.  I'd  rather  be 
left  alone,  there's  a  dear." 

"Only  tell  me  this.  Is  it  very  bad?  Does  it 
hurt—much?" 

"Where's  the  use  of  talking?  What  cannot 
be  cured  must  be  endured.  Life  isn't  all  a 
smooth  run  on  rubber  tires." 

"But  it  will  pass,  whatever  it  is.  Bear  up 
and  be  brave." 

"Yes;  I  suppose  it  will  pass — when  I  am 
dead." 

She  tried  to  smile. 

"Only  the  young  dream  of  death  as  a  relief," 
she  said.  "But  such  wild  words  hurt,  Rex." 

"That's  all  right,  only  leave  me  alone;  you 
can't  help.  Give  me  a  kiss,  and  then  go." 

A  tear  wet  his  forehead  when  Mrs.  Carshaw 
laid  her  lips  there. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

ALL  EOADS  LEAD  TO  EAST  ORANGE 

THE  next  day  Winifred  set  about  her  new  pur- 
pose of  finding  some  other  occupation  than  that 
connected  with  the  stage,  though  she  rose  from 
bed  that  morning  feeling  ill,  having  hardly 
slept  throughout  the  night. 

First,  she  read  over  once  more  the  "agent's" 
letter,  and  was  again  conscious  of  an  extremely 
vague  feeling  of  something  queer  in  it  when 
she  reflected  on  the  lateness  of  the  hour  of  the 
rendezvous — eight  in  the  evening.  She  decided 
to  write,  explaining  her  change  of  purpose,  and 
declining  the  interview  with  this  nebulous 
"client."  She  did  not  write  at  once.  She 
thought  that  she  would  wait,  and  see  first  the 
result  of  the  day's  search  for  other  employ- 
ment. 

Soon  after  breakfast  she  went  out,  heading 
for  Brown's,  her  old  employers  in  Greenwich 
Village,  who  had  turned  her  away  after  the 
yacht  affair  and  the  arrest  of  her  aunt. 

As  she  waited  at  the  crossing  where  the  cars 
pass,  her  eyes  rested  on  a  man — a  clergyman, 
apparently — standing  on  the  opposite  pave- 

191 


192       THE  BAETLETT  MYSTERY 

merit.  He  was  not  at  the  moment  looking  that 
way,  and  she  took  little  notice  of  him,  though 
her  subconsciousness  may  have  recognized 
something  familiar  in  the  lines  of  his  body. 

It  was  Fowle  in  a  saintly  garb,  Fowle  in  a 
shovel  hat,  Fowle  interested  in  the  comings  and 
goings  of  Winifred.  Fowle,  moreover,  in  those 
days,  floated  on  the  high  tide  of  ease,  and  had 
plenty  of  money  in  his  pocket.  He  not  only 
looked,  but  felt  like  a  person  of  importance, 
and  when  Winifred  entered  a  street-car,  Fowle 
followed  in  a  taxi. 

There  was  a  new  foreman  at  Brown's  now, 
and  he  received  the  girl  kindly.  She  laid  her 
case  before  him.  She  had  been  employed  there 
and  had  given  satisfaction.  Then,  all  at  once, 
an  event  with  which  she  had  nothing  more  to 
do  than  people  in  China,  had  caused  her  to  be 
dismissed.  Would  not  the  firm,  now  that  the 
whole  business  had  blown  over,  reinstate  her? 

The  man  heard  her  attentively  through  and 
said: 

"Hold  on.  I'll  have  a  talk  with  the  boss." 
He  left  her,  and  was  gone  ten  minutes.  Then 
he  returned,  with  a  shaking  head.  "No, 
Brown's  never  take  any  one  back,"  said  he; 
"but  here's  a  list  of  bookbinding  firms  which 
he's  written  out  for  you,  and  he  says  he'll  give 
you  a  recommendation  if  any  of  'em  give  you 
a  job." 


With  this  list  Winifred  went  out,  and,  deter- 
mined to  lose  no  time,  started  on  the  round,  tak- 
ing the  nearest  first,  one  in  Nineteenth  Street. 
She  walked  that  way,  and  slowly  behind  her 
followed  a  clergyman.  The  firm  in  Nineteenth 
Street  wanted  no  new  hand.  Winifred  got  into 
a  Twenty-Third  Street  cross-town  car.  After 
her  sped  a  taxi. 

And  now,  when  she  stopped  at  the  third  book- 
binder's, Fowle  knew  her  motive.  She  was 
seeking  work  at  the  old  trade.  He  was  puzzled, 
knowing  that  she  had  wished  to  become  a 
singer,  and  being  aware,  too,  of  the  appointment 
for  the  next  night  at  East  Orange.  Had  she, 
then,  changed  her  purpose?  Perhaps  she  was 
seeking  both  kinds  of  employment,  meaning  to 
accept  the  one  which  came  first.  If  the  book- 
binding won  out  that  might  be  dangerous  to 
the  rendezvous. 

In  any  case,  Fowle  resolved  to  nip  the  project 
in  the  bud.  He  would  go  later  in  the  day  to  all 
the  firms  she  had  visited,  ask  if  they  had  en- 
gaged her,  and,  if  so,  drop  a  hint  that  she  had 
been  dismissed  from  Brown's  for  being  con- 
nected with  the  crime  committed  against  Mr. 
Eonald  Tower.  A  bogus  clergyman's  word  was 
good  for  something,  anyhow. 

From  Twenty-Third  Street,  where  there  was 
no  work,  Winifred  made  her  way  to  Twenty- 
Ninth  Street,  followed  still  by  the  taxi.  Here 


194       TEE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

things  turned  out  better  for  her.  She  was 
seen  by  a  manager  who  told  her  that  they 
would  be  short-handed  in  three  or  four  days, 
and  that,  if  she  could  really  produce  a  refer- 
ence from  Brown's  he  would  engage  her  per- 
manently. Winifred  left  him  her  address,  so 
that  he  might  write  and  tell  her  when  she  could 
come. 

She  lunched  in  a  cheap  restaurant  and  walked 
to  her  lodgings.  Color  flooded  her  cheeks,  but 
she  was  appalled  by  her  loneliness,  by  the  emp- 
tiness of  her  life.  To  bind  books  and  to  live 
for  binding  books,  that  was  not  living.  She 
had  peeped  into  Paradise,  but  the  gate  had  been 
shut  in  her  face,  and  the  bookbinding  world 
seemed  an  intolerably  flat  and  stale  rag-fair  in 
comparison. 

How  was  she  to  live  it  through,  she  asked 
herself.  When  she  went  up  to  her  room  the 
once  snug  and  homely  place  disgusted  her. 
How  was  she  to  live  through  the  vast  void  of 
that  afternoon  alone  in  that  apartment?  How 
bridge  the  vast  void  of  to-morrow?  The  salt 
had  lost  its  savor;  she  tasted  ashes;  life  was  all 
sand  of  the  desert ;  she  would  not  see  him  any 
more.  The  resolution  which  had  carried  her 
through  the  interview  with  Carshaw  failed  her 
now,  and  she  blamed  herself  for  the  murder 
of  herself. 

"Ph,  how  could  I  have  done  such  a  thing  V1 


'ALL  ROADS  LEAD  TO  EAST  ORANGE  195 

she  cried,  bursting  into  tears,  with  her  hat  still 
on  and  her  head  on  the  table. 

She  had  to  write  a  letter  to  the  "agent," 
telling  him  that  she  did  not  mean  to  keep  the 
rendezvous  at  East  Orange,  since  she  had  ob- 
tained other  work,  and  with  difficulty  summoned 
the  requisite  energy.  Every  effort  was  nause- 
ous to  her.  Her  whole  nature  was  absorbed  in 
digesting  her  one  great  calamity. 

Next  morning  it  was  the  same.  Her  arms 
hung  listlessly  by  her  side.  She  evaded  little 
domestic  tasks.  Though  her  clothes  were  new, 
a  girl  can  always  find  sewing  and  stitching.  A 
certain  shirtwaist  needed  slight  adjustment, 
but  her  fingers  fumbled  a  simple  task.  She 
passed  the  time  somehow  till  half  past  four. 
At  that  hour  there  was  a  ring  at  the  outer  door. 
In  the  absorption  of  her  grief  she  did  not  hear 
it,  though  it  was  "his"  hour.  A  step  sounded 
on  the  stairs,  and  this  she  heard;  but  she 
thought  it  was  Miss  Goodman  bringing  tea. 

Then,  brusquely,  without  any  knock,  the  door 
opened,  and  she  saw  before  her  Carshaw. 

"Oh!"  she  screamed,  in  an  ecstasy  of  joy, 
and  was  in  his  arms. 

The  rope  which  bound  her  had  snapped  thus 
suddenly  for  the  simple  reason  that  Carshaw 
had  promised  never  to  come  again,  and  was 
very  strict,  as  she  knew,  in  keeping  his  pledged 
word.  Therefore,  until  the  moment  when  her 


196       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

distraught  eyes  took  in  the  fact  of  his  presence, 
she  had  not  the  faintest  hope  or  thought  of  see- 
ing him  for  many  a  day  to  come,  if  ever. 

Seeing  him  all  at  once  in  the  midst  of  her 
desert  of  despair,  her  reason  swooned,  all  fixed 
principles  capsized,  and  instinct  swept  her 
triumphantly,  as  the  whirlwind  bears  a  feather, 
to  his  ready  embrace.  He,  for  his  part,  had 
broken  his  promise  because  he  could  not  help  it. 
He  had  to  come — so  he  came.  His  dismissal 
had  been  too  sudden  to  be  credible,  to  find  room 
in  his  brain.  It  continued  to  have  something 
of  the  character  of  a  dream,  and  he  was  here 
now  to  convince  himself  that  the  dream  was 
true. 

Moreover,  in  her  manner  of  sending  him 
away,  in  some  of  her  words,  there  had  been 
something  unreal  and  unconvincing,  with 
broken  hints  of  love,  even  as  she  denied  love, 
which  haunted  and  puzzled  his  memory.  If  he 
had  made  a  thousand  promises  he  would  still 
have  to  return  to  her. 

"Well,"  said  he,  his  face  alight  for  joy  as  she 
moaned  on  his  breast,  "what  is  it  all  about? 
You  unreliable  little  half  of  a  nerve,  Winnie!" 

( '  I  can 't  help  it ;  kiss  me — only  once ! ' '  panted 
Winifred,  with  tears  streaming  down  her  up- 
turned face. 

Carshaw  needed  no  bidding.  Kiss  her  oncei! 
Well,  a  man  should  smile. 


rALL  ROADS  LEAD  TO  EAST  ORANGE  197 

"What  is  it  all  about?"  he  demanded,  when 
Winifred  was  quite  breathless.  "Am  I  loved, 
then?" 

Her  forehead  was  on  his  shoulder,  and  she 
did  not  answer. 

"It  seems  so,"  he  whispered.  "Silence  is 
said  to  mean  consent.  But  why,  then,  was  I 
not  loved  the  day  before  yesterday?" 

Still  Winifred  dared  not  answer.  The  frenzy 
was  passing,  the  moral  nature  re-arising, 
stronger  than  ever,  claiming  its  own.  She  had 
promised  and  failed!  What  she  did  was  not 
well  for  him. 

"Tell  me,"  he  urged,  with  a  lover's  eager- 
ness. "You'll  have  to,  some  time,  you  know." 

"You  promised  not  to  come.  You  promised 
definitely,"  said  Winifred,  disengaging  herself 
from  him. 

"Could  I  help  coming?"  cried  he.  "I  was 
in  the  greatest  bewilderment  and  misery!" 

'  *  So  you  will  always  come,  even  if  you  prom- 
ise not  to?" 

"But  I  won't  promise  not  to!  Where  is  the 
need  now?  You  love  me,  I  love  you!" 

Winifred  turned  away  from  him,  went  to  the 
window  and  looked  out,  seeing  nothing,  for  the 
eyes  of  the  soul  were  busy.  Her  lips  were  now 
firmly  set,  and  during  the  minute  that  she  stood 
there  a  rapid  train  of  thought  and  purpose 
passed  through  her  mind.  She  had  promised 


198       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

to  give  him  up,  and  she  would  go  through  with 
it.  It  was  for  him — and  it  was  sweet,  though 
bitter,  to  be  a  martyr.  But  she  recognized 
clearly  that  so  long  as  he  knew  where  to  find 
her  the  thing  could  never  be  done.  She  made  up 
her  mind  to  be  gone  from  those  lodgings  by 
that  hour  the  next  day,  and  to  be  buried  from 
him  in  some  other  part  of  the  great  city.  She 
would  never  in  that  case  be  able  to  ask  him  for 
help  to  keep  going,  without  giving  her  address, 
but  in  a  few  days  she  would  have  work  at  the 
new  bookbinder's.  This  well  settled  in  her 
mind,  she  turned  inward  to  him,  saying: 

"Miss  Goodman  will  soon  bring  up  tea. 
Come,  let  us  be  happy  to-day.  You  want  to 
know  if  I  love  you?  Well,  the  answer  is  yes, 
yes;  so  now  you  know,  and  can  never  doubt. 
I  want  you  to  stay  a  long  time  this  afternoon, 
and  I  invite  you  to  be  my  dear,  dear  guest  on 
one  condition — that  you  don't  ask  me  why  I 
told  you  that  awful  fib  the  day  before  yesterday, 
for  I  don't  mean  to  tell  you!" 

Of  course  Carshaw  took  her  again  in  his 
arms,  and,  without  breaking  her  conditions, 
stayed  with  her  till  nearly  six.  She  was  se- 
dately gay  all  the  time,  but,  on  kissing  him  good- 
by,  she  wept  quietly,  and  as  quietly  she  said  to 
her  landlady  when  he  was  gone : 

"Miss  Goodman,  I  am  going  away  to-morrow 
always,  I'm  afraid." 


'ALL  ROADS  LEAD  TO  EAST  ORANGE  199 

Soon  after  this  six  o'clock  struck.  At  ten 
minutes  past  the  hour  Miss  Goodman  brought 
up  two  letters. 

Without  looking  at  the  handwriting  on  the 
envelopes,  Winifred  tore  open  one,  laying  the 
other  on  a  writing-desk,  this  latter  being  from 
the  agent  in  answer  to  the  one  she  had  written. 
She  had  told  him  that  she  did  not  mean  to  keep 
the  appointment  at  East  Orange,  and  he  now 
assured  her  that  he  had  certainly  never  made 
any  appointment  for  her  at  East  Orange.  The 
thing  was  some  blunder.  New  York  impres- 
arios did  not  make  appointments  in  East 
Orange.  He  asked  for  an  explanation. 

Pity  that  she  did  not  open  this  letter  before 
the  other — for  the  other  was  of  a  nature  to  drive 
the  existence  of  the  agent's  letter — of  any  let- 
ter— out  of  her  head;  for  days  afterward  that 
all-important  message  lay  on  the  table  un- 
opened. 

The  note  which  Winifred  did  read  was  from 
the  bookbinding  manager  who  had  all  but  en- 
gaged her  that  day.  He  now  informed  her  that 
he  would  have  no  use  for  her  services.  The 
clergyman  in  the  taxi  had  followed  very  effec- 
tively on  Winifred's  trail. 

She  was  stunned  by  this  final  blow.  Her 
eyes  gazed  into  vacancy.  What  she  was  to  do 
now  she  did  not  know.  The  next  day  she  had 
to  go  away  into  strange  lodgings,  with  hardly 


200       TEE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

any  money,  without  any  possibility  of  her 
applying  again  to  Eex,  without  support  of 
any  sort.  She  had  never  known  real  poverty, 
for  her  "aunt"  had  always  more  or  less  been 
in  funds;  and  the  prospect  appalled  her.  She 
would  face  it,  however,  at  all  costs,  and,  the 
bookbinding  failing  her,  her  mind  naturally  re- 
curred, with  a  gasp  of  hope,  to  the  singing. 

There  was  the  appointment  at  East  Orange 
at  eight.  She  looked  at  the  clock;  she  might 
have  time,  though  it  would  mean  an  instant 
rush.  She  would  go.  True,  she  had  written  the 
agent  to  say  that  she  would  not,  and  he  might 
have  so  advised  his  client.  But  perhaps  he  had 
not  had  time  to  do  this,  since  she  had  written 
him  so  late.  In  any  case,  there  was  a  chance 
that  she  should  meet  the  person  in  question,  and 
then  she  could  explain.  Suddenly  she  leaped 
up,  hurried  on  her  hat  and  coat,  and  ran  out 
of  the  house.  In  a  few  minutes  she  was  at  the 
Hudson  Tube,  bound  for  Hoboken  and  East 
Orange. 

Of  course  it  was  a  mad  thing  to  leave  an  un- 
opened letter  on  the  table,  but  just  then  poor 
Winifred  was  nearly  out  of  her  mind. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE   CRASH 

WHEN  Carshaw  came,  with  lightsome  step 
and  heart  freed  from  care — for  in  some  re- 
spects he  was  irresponsible  as  any  sane  man 
could  be — to  visit  his  beloved  Winifred  next 
day,  he  was  met  by  a  frightened  and  somewhat 
incoherent  Miss  Goodman. 

"Not  been  home  all  night!  Surely  you  can 
offer  some  explanation  further  than  that  mad- 
dening statement?"  cried  he,  when  the  shock 
of  her  news  had  sent  the  color  from  his  face 
and  the  joy  from  his  eyes. 

"Oh,  sir,  I  don't  know  what  to  say.  Indeed, 
I  am  not  to  blame." 

Miss  Goodman,  kind-hearted  soul,  was  more 
flurried  now  by  Carshaw 's  manner  than  by 
Winifred's  inexplicable  disappearance. 

"Blame,  my  good  woman,  who  is  imputing 
blame?"  he  blazed  at  her.  "But  there's  a  hid- 
den purpose,  a  convincing  motive,  in  her  going 
out  and  not  returning.  Give  me  some  clue, 
some  reason.  A  clear  thought  now,  the  right 
word  from  you,  may  save  hours  of  useless 
search." 

SO* 


202        THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

"How  can  I  give  any  clues'?"  cried  the  be- 
wildered landlady.  "The  dear- young  creature 
was  crying  all  day  fit  to  break  her  heart  after 
the  lady  called—" 

"The  lady!    What  lady?" 

"Your  mother,  sir.  Didn't  she  tell  you?  Mrs. 
Carshaw  was  here  the  day  before  yesterday, 
and  she  must  have  spoken  very  cruelly  to  Wini- 
fred to  make  her  so  downcast  for  hours.  I 
was  that  sorry  for  her — " 

Now,  Carshaw  had  the  rare  faculty — rare, 
that  is,  in  men  of  a  happy-go-lucky  tempera- 
ment— of  becoming  a  human  iceberg  in  moments 
of  danger  or  difficulty.  The  blank  absurdity  of 
Miss  Goodman's  implied  assertion  that  Wini- 
fred had  run  away — though,  indeed,  running 
away  was  uppermost  in  the  girl's  thoughts — 
had  roused  him  to  fiery  wrath. 

But  the  haphazard  mention  of  his  mother's 
visit,  the  coincidence  of  Winifred's  unexpect- 
edly strange  behavior  and  equally  unexpected 
transition  to  a  wildly  declared  love,  revealed 
some  of  the  hidden  sources  of  events,  and  over 
the  volcano  of  his  soul  he  imposed  a  layer  of 
ice.  He  even  smiled  pleasantly  as  he  begged 
Miss  Goodman  to  dry  her  eyes  and  be  seated. 

"We  are  at  loggerheads,  you  see,"  he  said, 
almost  cheerfully.  "Just  let  us  sit  down  and 
have  a  quiet  talk.  Tell  me  everything  you 
know,  and  in  the  order  in  which  things  hap-, 


THE  CRASH  203 

pened.  Tell  me  facts,  and  if  you  are  guess- 
ing at  probabilities,  tell  me  you  are  guess- 
ing. Then  we  shall  soon  unravel  the  tangled 
threads." 

Thus  reassured,  Miss  Goodman  took  him 
through  the  records  of  the  past  forty-eight 
hours,  so  far  as  she  knew  them.  After  the  first 
few  words  he  required  no  explanations  of  his 
mother's  presence  in  that  middle-class  section 
of  Manhattan.  She  had  gone  there  in  her 
stately  limousine  to  awe  and  bewilder  a  poor 
little  girl — to  frighten  an  innocent  out  of  loving 
her  son  and  thus  endangering  her  own  gran- 
diose projects  for  his  future. 

It  was  pardonable,  perhaps,  from  a  worldly 
woman's  point  of  view.  That  there  were  other 
aspects  of  it  she  should  soon  see,  with  a  certain 
definiteness,  the  cold  outlines  of  which  already 
made  his  mouth  stern,  and  sent  little  lines  to 
wrinkle  his  forehead.  He  had  spared  her  hith- 
erto— had  hoped  to  keep  on  sparing  her — yet 
she  had  not  spared  Winifred!  But  who  had 
prompted  her  to  this  heartless  deed!  He  loved 
his  mother.  Her  faults  were  those  of  society, 
her  virtues  were  her  own.  She  had  lived  too 
long  in  an  atmosphere  of  artificiality  not  to 
have  lost  much  of  the  fine  American  womanli- 
ness that  was  her  birthright.  That  could  be 
cured — he  alone  knew  how.  The  puzzling 
query,  for  a  little  while,  was  the  identity  of  the 


204       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

cruel,  calculating,  ruthless  enemy  who  struck 
by  her  hand. 

There  was  less  light  shed  on  Winifred's  own 
behavior.  He  recalled  her  words:  ''You  want 
to  know  if  I  love  you — yes,  yes — I  want  you  to 
stay  a  long  time  this  afternoon — don't  ask  me 
why  Liold  you  that  awful  fib— 

And  then  her  confession  to  Miss  Goodman: 
"I  am  going  away  to-morrow — for  always,  I'm 
afraid." 

What  did  that  portend?  Ah,  yes;  she  was 
going  to  some  place  where  he  could  not  find  her, 
to  bury  herself  away  from  his  love  and  because 
of  her  love  for  him.  It  was  no  new  idea  in  wo- 
man's heart,  this.  For  long  ages  in  India  sor- 
rowing wives  burned  themselves  to  death  on 
the  funeral  pyres  of  their  lords.  Poor  Wini- 
fred only  reversed  the  method  of  the  sacrifice 
: — its  result  would  be  the  same. 

"But  'to-morrow' — to-day,  that  is.  You  are 
quite  sure  of  her  words?"  he  persisted. 

"Oh,  yes,  sir;  quite  sure.  Besides  she  has 
left  her  clothes  and  letters,  and  little  knick- 
knacks  of  jewelry.  Would  you  care  to  see 
them?" 

For  an  instant  he  hesitated,  for  he  was  a  man 
of  refinement,  and  he  hated  the  necessity  of 
prying  into  the  little  secrets  of  his  dear  one. 
Then  he  agreed,  and  Miss  Goodman  took  him 
from  her  own  sitting-room  to  that  tenanted  by 


THE  CRASH  205 

Winifred.  Her  presence  seemed  to  linger  in  the 
air.  His  eyes  traveled  to  the  chair  from  which 
she  rose  with  that  glad  crooning  cry  when  he 
came  to  her  so  few  hours  earlier. 

On  the  table  lay  her  tiny  writing-case.  In  it, 
unopened,  and  hidden  by  the  discouraging  mis- 
sive from  the  bookbinder's,  rested  the  note 
from  the  dramatic  agent,  with  the  thrice-im- 
portant clue  of  its  plain  statement:  "I  have 
made  no  appointment  for  you  at  any  house  near 
East  Orange." 

But  Miss  Goodman  had  already  thrown  open 
the  door  which  led  to  Winifred's  bedroom. 

"You  can  see  for  yourself,  sir,"  she  said, 
"the  room  was  not  occupied  last  night.  Nor 
that  she  could  be  in  the  house  without  me  know- 
ing it,  poor  thing.  There  are  her  clothes  in  the 
wardrobe,  and  the  dressing-table  is  tidy.  She's 
extraordinarily  neat  in  her  ways,  is  Miss  Bart- 
lett — quite  different  from  the  empty-headed 
creatures  girls  mostly  are  nowadays." 

Miss  Goodman  spoke  bitterly.  She  was  fifty, 
gray-haired,  and  a  hopeless  old  maid.  This 
point  of  view  sours  the  appearance  of  saucy 
eighteen  with  the  sun  shining  in  its  tresses. 

Carshaw  swallowed  something  in  his  throat. 
The  sanctity  of  this  inner  room  of  Winifred's 
overwhelmed  him.  He  turned  away  hastily. 

"All  right,  Miss  Goodman,"  he  said;  "we 
can  learn  nothing  here.  Let  us  go  back  to  your 


206       THE  BAETLETT  MYSTERY 

apartment,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  I  want  you 
to  do  now." 

Passing  the  writing-desk  again  he  looked 
more  carefully  at  its  contents.  A  small  packet 
of  bills  caught  his  eye.  There  were  the  re- 
ceipts for  such  simple  articles  as  Winifred  had 
bought  with  his  money.  Somehow,  the  mere 
act  of  examining  such  a  list  struck  him 
with  a  sense  of  profanation.  He  could  not 
do  it. 

His  eyes  glazed.  Hardly  knowing  what  the 
words  meant,  he  glanced  through  the  typed 
document  from  the  bookbinder.  It  was  obvi- 
ously a  business  letter.  He  committed  no 
breach  of  the  etiquette  governing  private  cor- 
respondence by  reading  it.  So  great  was  his 
delicacy  in  this  respect  that  he  did  not  even  lift 
the  letter  from  the  table,  but  noted  the  address 
and  the  curt  phraseology.  Here,  then,  was  a 
little  explanation.  He  would  inquire  at  that 
place. 

"I  want  you  to  telegraph  me  each  morning 
and  evening,"  he  said  to  the  landlady.  ''Don't 
depend  on  the  phone.  If  you  have  news,  of 
course  you  will  give  it,  but  if  nothing  happens 
say  that  there  is  no  news.  Here  is  my  address 
and  a  five-dollar  bill  for  expenses.  Did  Miss 
Bartlett  owe  you  anything?" 

"No,  sir.  She  paid  me  yesterday  when  she 
gave  me  notice." 


TEE  CRASH  207 

"Ah!  Kindly  retain  her  rooms.  I  don't 
wish  any  other  person  to  occupy  them." 

"Do  you  think,  sir,  she  will  not  come  back 
to-day?" 

"I  fear  so.  She  is  detained  by  force.  She 
has  been  misled  by  some  one.  I  am  going  now 
to  find  out  who  that  some  one  else  is." 

He  drove  his  car,  now  rejuvenated,  with  the 
preoccupied  gaze  of  one  who  seeks  to  pierce  a 
dark  and  troubled  future.  From  the  garage 
he  called  up  the  Long  Island  estate  where  his 
hacks  and  polo  ponies  were  housed  for  the 
winter.  He  gave  some  instructions  which 
caused  the  man  in  charge  to  blink  with  astonish- 
ment. 

"Selling  everything,  Mr.  Carshaw!"  he  said. 
"D'  ye  really  mean  it?" 

"Does  my  voice  sound  as  if  I  were  joking, 
Bates?" 

"No-no,  sir;  I  can't  say  it  does.    But — " 

"Start  on  the  catalogue  now,  this  evening. 
I'll  look  after  you.  Mr.  Van  Hofen  wants  a 
good  man.  Stir  yourself,  and  that  place  is 
yours. ' ' 

He  found  his  mother  at  home.  She  glanced 
at  him  as  he  entered  her  boudoir.  She  saw, 
with  her  ready  tact,  that  questions  as  to  his 
state  of  worry  would  be  useless. 

"Will  you  be  dining  at  home,  Rex?"  she 
asked. 


208       TEE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

"Yes.    And  you?" 

"I — have  almost  promised  to  dine  en  famille 
with  the  Towers." 

"Better  stop  here.  We  have  a  lot  of  things 
to  arrange." 

1 1  Arrange !    What  sort  of  things  ? ' ' 

"Business  affairs  for  the  most  part." 

' '  Oh,  business !    Any  discussion  of— 

"I  said  nothing  about  discussion,  mother. 
For  some  years  past  I  have  been  rather  care- 
less in  my  ways.  Now  I  am  going  to  stop  all 
that.  A  good  business  maxim  is  to  always 
choose  the  word  that  expresses  one's  meaning 
exactly. ' ' 

"Bex,  you  speak  queerly." 

"That  shows  I'm  doing  well.  Your  ears  have 
so  long  been  accustomed  to  falsity,  mother,  that 
the  truth  sounds  strangely." 

"My  son,  do  not  be  so  bitter  with  me.  I  have 
never  in  my  life  had  other  than  the  best  of 
motives  in  any  thought  or  action  that  concerned 
you." 

He  looked  at  her  intently.  He  read  in  her 
words  an  admission  and  a  defense. 

"Let  us  avoid  tragedy,  mother,  at  least  in 
words.  Who  sent  you  to  Winifred?" 

"Then  she  has  told  you?" 

"She  has  not  told  me.  Women  are  either 
angels  or  fiends.  This  harmless  little  angel  has 
been  driven  out  of  her  Paradise  in  the  hope  that 


THE  CRASH  209 

her  butterfly  wings  may  be  soiled  by  the  rain 
and  mud  of  Manhattan.  Who  sent  you  to  her?" 

"Senator  Meiklejohn,"  said  Mrs.  Carshaw 
defiantly. 

"What,  that  smug  Pharisee!  What  was  his 
excuse?" 

"He  said  you  were  the  talk  of  the  clubs — 
that  Helen  Tower—" 

"She,  too!  Thank  you.  I  see  the  drift  of 
things  now.  It  was  heartless  of  you,  mother. 
Did  not  Winifred's  angel  face,  twisted  into 
misery  by  your  lies,  cause  you  one  pang  of 
remorse?" 

Mrs.  Carshaw  rose  unsteadily.  Her  face  was 
ghastly  in  its  whiteness. 

"Rex,  spare  me,  for  Heaven's  sake!"  she 
faltered.  "I  did  it  for  the  best.  I  have  suf- 
fered more  than  you  know." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  You  have  a  good 
nature  in  its  depths,  but  the  canker  of  society 
has  almost  destroyed  it.  That  is  why  you  and 
I  are  about  to  talk  business." 

"I  am  feeling  faint.  Let  matters  rest  a  few 
hours." 

He  strode  to  the  bell  and  summoned  a  ser- 
vant. "Bring  some  brandy  and  two  glasses," 
he  said  when  the  man  came. 

It  was  an  unusual  order  at  that  hour. 
Silently  the  servant  obeyed.  Carshaw  looked 
put  of  the  window,  while  his  mother,  true  to  her. 


210       THE  BAETLETT  MYSTERY 

caste,  affected  nonchalance  before  the  dom- 
estic. 

"Now,"  said  he  when  they  were  alone,  "drink 
this.  It  will  steady  your  nerves." 

She  was  frightened  at  last.  Her  hand  shook 
as  it  took  the  proffered  glass. 

"What  has  happened?"  she  asked,  with 
quavering  voice.  She  had  never  seen  her  son 
like  this  before.  There  was  a  hint  of  inflexible 
purpose  in  him  that  terrified  her.  When  he 
spoke  the  new  crispness  in  his  voice  shocked 
her  ears. 

"Mere  business,  I  assure  you.  Not  another 
word  about  Winifred.  I  shall  find  her,  sooner 
or  later,  and  we  shall  be  married  then,  at  once. 
But,  by  queer  chance,  I  have  been  looking  into 
affairs  of  late.  The  manager  of  our  Massachu- 
setts mills  tells  me  that  trade  is  slack.  We  have 
been  running  at  a  loss  for  some  years.  Our 
machinery  is  antiquated,  and  we  have  not  the 
accumulated  reserves  to  replace  it.  We  are  in 
debt,  and  our  credit  begins  to  be  shaky.  Think 
of  that,  mother — the  name  of  Carshaw  pondered 
over  by  bank  managers  and  discounters  of  trade 
bills!" 

"Senator  Meiklejohn  mentioned  this  va- 
guely," she  admitted. 

"Dear  me!  WTiat  an  interest  he  takes  in 
us!  I  wonder  why?  But,  as  a  financial  mag- 
nate, he  understands  things." 


THE  CEASE  211 

"Your  father  always  said,  Rex,  that  trade 
had  its  cycles — fat  years  and  lean  years,  you 
know. ' ' 

"Yes.  He  built  up  our  prosperity  by  hard 
work,  by  spending  less  than  half  what  he 
earned,  not  by  living  in  a  town  house  and  gad- 
ding about  in  society.  Do  you  remember, 
mother,  how  he  used  to  laugh  at  your  pretty 
little  affectations!  I  think  I  own  my  share  of 
the  family  brains,  though,  so  I  shall  act  now 
as  he  would  have  acted." 

"Do  you  wish  to  goad  me  into  hysteria? 
What  are  you  driving  at?"  she  shrieked. 

"That  is  the  way  to  reach  the  heart  of  the 
mystery — get  at  the  facts,  eh?  They're  simple. 
The  business  needs  three  hundred  thousand  dol- 
lars to  give  it  solidity  and  staying  power ;  then 
four  or  five  years'  good  and  economical  manage- 
ment will  set  it  right.  We  have  been  living  at 
the  rate  of  fifty  thousand  dollars  a  year.  For 
some  time  we  have  been  executing  small  mort- 
gages to  obtain  this  annual  income,  expecting 
the  business  to  clear  them.  Now  the  estates 
must  come  to  the  help  of  the  business." 

"In  what  way?"  she  gasped. 

"They  must  be  mortgaged  up  to  the  hilt  to 
pay  off  the  small  sums  and  find  the  large  one. 
It  will  take  ten  years  of  nursing  to  relieve  them 
of  the  burden.  Not  a  penny  must  come  from 
the  mills." 


212       THE  BAETLETT  MYSTERY 

"How  shall  we  live?"  she  demanded. 

"I  have  arranged  that.  Your  marriage  set- 
tlement of  two  thousand  five  hundred  dollars 
a  year  is  secured ;  that  is  all.  How  big  it  seemed 
in  your  eyes  when  you  were  a  bride !  How  little 
now,  though  your  real  needs  are  less!  I  shall 
take  a  sufficient  salary  as  assistant  manager 
while  I  learn  the  business.  It  means  two  thou- 
sand dollars  a  year  for  housekeeping,  and  I 
have  calculated  that  the  sale  of  all  our  goods 
will  pay  our  personal  debts  and  leave  you  and 
me  five  thousand  each  to  set  up  small  establish- 
ments." 

Mrs.  Carshaw  flounced  into  a  chair.  "You 
must  be  quite  mad!"  she  cried. 

"No,  mother,  sane — quite  sane — for  the  first 
time.  Don't  you  believe  me?  Go  to  your  law- 
yers; the  scheme  is  really  theirs.  They  are 
good  business  men,  and  congratulated  me  on 
taking  a  wise  step.  So  you  see,  mother,  I  really 
cannot  afford  a  fashionable  wife." 

"I  am — choking!"  she  gasped.  For  the  mo- 
ment anger  filled  her  soul. 

"Now,  be  reasonable,  there's  a  good  soul. 
Five  thousand  in  the  bank,  twenty-five  hundred 
a  year  to  live  on.  Why,  when  you  get  used  to 
it  you  will  say  you  were  never  so  happy.  What 
about  dinner?  Shall  we  start  economizing  at 
once?  Let's  pay  off  half  a  dozen  servants  be- 
fore we  sit  down  to  a  chop !  Eh,  tears !  Well, 


THE  CRASH  213 

they'll  help.  Sometimes  they're  good  for 
women.  Send  for  me  when  you  are  calmer!" 

With  a  look  of  real  pity  in  his  eyes  he  bent 
and  kissed  her  forehead.  She  would  have  kept 
him  with  her,  but  he  went  away. 

"No,"  he  said,  "no  discussion,  you  remem- 
ber ;  and  I  must  fix  a  whole  heap  of  things  be- 
fore we  dine!" 


CHAPTER  XIX 

CLANCY   EXPLAINS 

CARSHAW  phoned  the  Bureau,  asking  for 
Clancy  or  the  chief.  Both  were  out. 

"Mr.  Steingall  will  be  here  to-morrow,"  said 
the  official  in  charge.  "Mr.  Clancy  asked  me 
to  tell  you,  if  you  rang  up,  that  he  would  be 
away  till  Monday  next." 

This  was  Wednesday  evening.  Carshaw  felt 
that  fate  was  using  him  ill,  for  Clancy  was  the 
one  man  with  whom  he  wanted  to  commune  in 
that  hour  of  agony.  He  dined  with  his  mother. 
She,  deeming  him  crazy  after  a  severe  attack 
of  calf-love,  humored  his  mood.  She  was  calm 
now,  believing  that  a  visit  to  the  lawyers  next 
day,  and  her  own  influence  with  the  mill-man- 
ager and  the  estate  superintendent,  would  soon 
put  a  different  aspect  on  affairs. 

A  telegram  came  late:  "No  news." 

He  sought  Senator  Meiklejohn  at  his  apart- 
ment, but  the  fox,  scenting  hounds,  had  broken 
covert. 

"The  Senator  will  be  in  Washington  next 
week,"  said  the  discreet  Phillips.  "At  present, 
sir,  he  is  not  in  town." 

314 


CLANCY  EXPLAINS  215 

Carshaw  made  no  further  inquiry;  he  knew 
it  was  useless.  In  the  morning  another  tele- 
gram: "No  news!" 

He  set  his  teeth,  and  smilingly  agreed  to  ac- 
company his  mother  to  the  lawyers'.  She  came 
away  in  tears.  Those  serious  men  strongly 
approved  of  her  son's  project. 

"Rex  has  all  his  father's  grit,"  said  the 
senior  partner.  "In  a  little  time  you  will  be 
convinced  that  he  is  acting  rightly." 

"I  shall  be  dead!"  she  snapped. 

The  lawyer  lifted  his  hands  with  a  depreca- 
ting smile.  "You  have  no  secrets  from  me,  Mrs. 
Carshaw,"  he  said.  "You  are  ten  years  my 
junior,  and  insurance  actuaries  give  women 
longer  lives  than  men  when  they  have  attained 
a  certain  age." 

Carshaw  visited  Helen  Tower.  She  was 
fluttered.  By  note  he  had  asked  for  a  tete-a-tete 
interview.  But  his  first  words  undeceived 
her. 

"Where  is  Meiklejohn?"  he  asked. 

"Do  you  mean  Senator  Meiklejohn?"  she 
corrected  him. 

"Yes;  the  man  who  acted  in  collusion  with 
you  in  kidnapping  my  intended  wife." 

"How  dare  you — " 

"Sit  down,  Helen;  no  heroics,  please.  Or 
perhaps  you  would  prefer  that  Ronald  should 
be  present?" 


216       TEE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY, 

"This  tone,  Rex — to  me!"  She  was  crimson 
with  surprise. 

11  You  are  right :  it  is  better  that  Tower  should 
not  be  here.  He  might  get  a  worse  douche  than 
his  plunge  into  the  river.  Now,  about  Meikle- 
johnl?  Why  did  he  conspire  with  you  and  my 
mother  to  carry  off  Winifred  Bartlett?" 

"I— don't  know." 

" Surely  there  was  some  motive?" 

"You  are  speaking  in  enigmas.  I  heard  of 
the  girl  from  you.  I  have  never  seen  her.  If 
your  mother  interfered,  it  was  for  your  good." 

He  smiled  cynically.  The  cold,  far-away  look 
in  his  eyes  was  bitter  to  her  soul,  yet  he  had 
never  looked  so  handsome,  so  distinguished,  as 
in  this  moment  when  he  was  ruthlessly  telling 
her  that  another  woman  absorbed  him  utterly. 

"What  hold  has  Meiklejohn  over  you?"  he 
went  on. 

She  simulated  tears.  "You  have  no  right 
to  address  me  in  that  manner,"  she  protested. 

"There  is  a  guilty  bond  somewhere,  and  I 
shall  find  it  out,"  he  said  coldly.  "My  mother 
was  your  catspaw.  You,  Helen,  may  have  been 
spiteful,  but  Meiklejohn — that  sleek  and  smug 
politician- — I  cannot  ttiderstand  him.  The  story 
went  that  owing  to  an  accidental  likeness  to 
Meiklejohn  your  husband  was  nearly  killed. 
His  assailant  was  a  man  named  Voles.  Voles 
was  an  associate  of  Rachel  Craik,  the  woman 


CLANCY  EXPLAINS  217 

who  poses  as  Winifred's  aunt.    That  is  the  line 
of  inquiry.    Do  you  know  anything  about  it?" 

"Not  a  syllable." 

"Then  I  must  appeal  to  Ronald." 

"Do  so.  He  is  as  much  in  the  dark  as  I 
am." 

"I  fancy  you  are  speaking  the  truth,  Helen." 

"Is  it  manly  to  come  here  and  insult  me?" 

"Was  it  womanly  to  place  these  hounds  on 
the  track  of  my  poor  Winifred?    I  shall  spare 
no  one,  Helen.    Be  warned  in  time.    If  you  can 
help  me,  do  so.    I  may  have  pity  on  my  friends, ' 
I  shall  have  none  for  my  enemies." 

He  was  gone.  Mrs.  Tower,  biting  her  lips 
and  clenching  her  hands  in  sheer  rage,  rushed 
to  an  escritoire  and  unlocked  it.  A  letter  lay 
there,  a  letter  from  Meiklejohn.  It  was  dated 
from  the  Marlborough-Blenheim  Hotel,  Atlantic 
City. 

"Dear  Mrs.  Tower,"  it  ran,  "the  Costa  Rica 
cotton  concession  is  almost  secure.  The  Presi- 
dent will  sign  it  any  day  now.  But  secrecy  is 
more  than  ever  important.  Tell  none  but  Jacob. 
The  market  must  be  kept  in  the  dark.  He  can 
begin  operations  quietly.  The  shares  should 
be  at  par  within  a  week,  and  at  five  in  a  month. 
Wire  me  the  one  word  'settled'  when  Jacob  says 
he  is  ready." 

"At  five  in  a  month!" 

Mrs.  Tower  was  promised  ten  thousand  of 


those  shares.  Their  nominal  value  was  one 
dollar.  To-day  they  stood  at  a  few  cents.  Fifty 
thousand  dollars!  What  a  relief  it  would  be! 
Threatening  dressmakers,  impudent  racing 
agents  asking  for  unpaid  bets,  sneering  friends 
who  held  her  I.  0.  U.'s  for  bridge  losses,  and 
spoke  of  asking  her  husband  to  settle ;  all  these 
paid  triumphantly,  and  plenty  in  hand  to  battle 
in  the  whirlpool  for  years — it  was  a  stake  worth 
fighting  for. 

And  Meiklejohn?  As  the  price  of  his  help 
in  gaining  a  concession  granted  by  a  new  com- 
petitor among  the  cotton-producing  States,  he 
would  be  given  five  shares  to  her  one.  Why  did 
he  dread  this  girl?  That  was  a  fruitful  affair 
to  probe.  But  he  must  be  warned.  Her  lost 
lover  might  be  troublesome  at  a  critical  stage 
in  the  affairs  of  the  cotton  market. 

She  wrote  a  telegram:  "Settled,  but  await 
letter."  In  the  letter  she  gave  him  some  de- 
tails— not  all — of  Carshaw's  visit.  No  woman 
will  ever  reveal  that  she  has  been  discarded 
by  a  man  whom  slue  boasted  was  tied  to  her 
hat-strings. 

Carshaw  sought  the  detective  bureau,  but 
Steingall  was  away  now,  as  well  as  Clancy. 
"You'll  be  hearing  from  one  of  them"  was  the 
enigmatic  message  he  was  given. 

Eating  his  heart  out  in  misery,  he  arranged 
his  affairs,  received  those  two  daily  telegrams 


CLANCY  EXPLAINS  219 

from  Miss  Goodman  with  their  dreadful  words, 
4 'No  news,"  and  haunted  the  bookbinder's,  and 
Meiklejohn's  door  hoping  to  see  some  of  the 
crew  of  Winifred's  persecutors.  At  the  book- 
binder's he  learned  of  the  visit  of  the  supposed 
clergyman,  whose  name,  however,  did  not  ap- 
pear in  the  lists  of  any  denomination. 

At  last  arrived  a  telegram  from  Burlington, 
Vermont.  "Come  and  see  me.  Clancy." 
Grown  wary  by  experience,  Carshaw  ascer- 
tained first  that  Clancy  was  really  at  Burling- 
ton. Then  he  instructed  Miss  Goodman  to  tele- 
graph -to  him  in  the  north,  and  quitted  New 
York  by  the  night  train. 

In  the  sporting  columns  of  an  evening  paper 
he  read  of  the  sale  of  his  polo  ponies.  The 
scribe  regretted  the  suggested  disappearance 
from  the  game  of  "one  of  the  best  Number 
Ones"  he  had  ever  seen.  The  Long  Island 
estate  was  let  already,  and  Mrs.  Carshaw 
would  leave  her  expensive  flat  when  the  lease 
expired. 

Early  next  day  he  was  greeted  by  Clancy. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Carshaw,"  said  the 
little  man.  "Been  here  before?  No?  Charm- 
ing town.  None  of  the  infernal  racket  of  New 
York  about  life  in  Burlington.  Any  one  who 
got  bitten  by  that  bug  here  would  be  afflicted 
like  the  Gadarene  swine  and  rush  into  Lake 
Champlain.  Walk  to  the  hotel?  It's  a  fine 


220        THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

morning,  and  you'll  get  some  bully  views  of 
the  Adiroudacks  as  you  climb  the  hill." 

"Winifred  is  gone.  Hasn't  the  Bureau  kepi 
you  informed?" 

Clancy  sighed. 

"I've  had  Winifred  on  my  mind  for  days," 
he  said  irritably.  "Can't  you  forget  her  for 
half  an  hour?" 

"She's  gone,  I  tell  you.  Spirited  away  the 
very  day  I  asked  her  to  marry  me." 

"Well,  well.  Why  didn't  you  ask  her 
sooner?" 

"I  had  to  arrange  my  affairs.  I  am  poor 
now.  How  could  I  marry  Winifred  under  false 
pretenses?" 

"What,  then?  Did  she  love  you  for  your 
supposed  wealth?" 

"Mr.  Clancy,  I  am  tortured.  Why  have  you 
brought  me  here?" 

"To  stop  you  from  playing  Meikle John's 
game.  I  hear  that  you  camp  outside  his  apart- 
ment-house. You  and  I  are  going  back  to  New 
York  this  very  day,  and  the  Bureau  will  soon 
find  your  Winifred.  By  the  way,  how  did  you 
happen  onto  the  Senator's  connection  with  the 
affair?" 

Taking  hope,  Carshaw  told  his  story.  Clancy 
listened  while  they  breakfasted.  Then  he  un- 
folded a  record  of  local  events. 

"The  Bureau  has  known  for  some  time  thai; 


VLANCY  EXPLAINS  221 

Senator  Meiklejohn 's  past  offered  some  rather 
remarkable  problems,"  he  said,  dropping  his 
bantering  air  and  speaking  seriously.  "We 
have  never  ceased  making  guarded  inquiries.  I 
am  here  now  for  that  very  purpose.  Some 
thirty  years  ago,  on  the  death  of  his  father,  he 
and  his  brother,  Ralph  Vane  Meiklejohn,  in- 
herited an  old-establised  banking  business  in 
[Vermont.  Ralph  was  a  bit  of  a  rake,  but  local 
opinion  regarded  William  as  a  steady-going, 
domesticated  man  who  would  uphold  the  family 
traditions.  There  was  no  ink  on  the  blotter 
during  upward  of  ten  years,  and  William  was 
already  a  candidate  for  Congress  when  Ralph 
was  involved  in  a  scandal  which  caused  some 
talk  at  the  time.  The  name  of  a  governess  in 
a  local  house  was  associated  with  his,  and  her 
name  was  Bartlett." 

Carshaw  glanced  at  the  detective  with  a  quick 
uneasiness,  which  Clancy  pretended  not  to  no- 
tice. 

"I  have  no  proof,  but  absolutely  no  doubt," 
he  continued,  "that  this  woman  is  now  known 
as  Rachel  Craik.  She  fell  into  Ralph  Meikle- 
john's clutches  then,  and  has  remained  his  slave 
ever  since.  Two  years  later  there  was  a  terrific 
sensation  here.  A  man  named  Marchbanks  was 
found  lying  dead  in  a  lakeside  quarry,  having 
fallen  or  been  thrown  into  it.  This  quarry  was 
situated  near  the  Meiklejohn  house.  Mrs, 


Marchbanks,  a  ward  of  Meikle John's  father, 
died  in  childbirth  as  the  result  of  shock  when 
she  heard  of  her  husband's  death,  and  inquiry 
showed  that  all  her  money  had  been  swallowed 
up  in  loans  to  her  husband  for  Stock  Exchange 
speculation.  Mrs  Marchbanks  was  a  noted 
beauty,  and  her  fortune  was  estimated  at  nearly 
half  a  million  dollars.  It  was  all  the  more 
amazing  that  her  husband  should  have  lost  such 
a  great  sum  in  reckless  gambling,  seeing  that 
those  who  remember  him  say  he  was  a  nice- 
mannered  gentleman  of  the  old  type,  devoted 
to  his  wife,  and  with  a  passion  for  cultivating 
orchids.  Again,  why  should  Mrs.  Marchbanks  's 
bankers  and  guardians  allow  her  to  be  ruined 
by  a  thoughtless  fool!" 

Clancy  seemed  to  be  asking  himself  these 
questions ;  but  Carshaw,  so  far  from  New  York, 
and  with  a  mind  ever  dwelling  on  Winifred, 
said  impatiently: 

"You  didn't  bring  me  here  to  tell  me  about 
some  long-forgotten  mystery1?" 

"Ah,  quit  that  hair-trigger  business!"  snap- 
ped Clancy.  "You  just  listen,  an'  maybe  you'll 
hear  something  interesting.  Ealph  Vane  Meik- 
lejohn  left  Vermont  soon  afterward.  Twelve 
years  ago  a  certain  Ralph  Voles  was  sentenced 
to  five  years  in  a  penitentiary  for  swindling. 
Mrs.  Marchbanks 's  child  lived.  It  was  a  girl, 
and  baptized  as  Winifred.  She  was  looked  after 


CLANCY  EXPLAINS  223^ 

as  a  matter  of  charity  by  William  Meiklejohn, 
and  entrusted  to  the  care  of  Miss  Bartlett,  the 
ex-governess." 

Carshaw  was  certainly  "interested"  now. 

' ' Winifred !  My  Winifred ! "  he  cried,  grasp- 
ing the  detective's  shoulder  in  his  excite- 
ment. 

4 'Tut,  tut!"  grinned  Clancy.  "Guess  the 
story's  beginning  to  grip.  Yes.  Winifred  is 
'the  image  of  her  mother,'  said  Voles.  She 
must  be  'taken  away  from  New  York.'  Why? 
Why  did  this  same  Ralph  vanish  from  Vermont 
after  her  father's  death  'by  accident"?  Why 
does  a  wealthy  and  influential  Senator  join  in 
the  plot  against  her,  invoking  the  aid  of  your 
mother  and  of  Mrs.  Tower!  These  are  ques- 
tions to  be  asked,  but  not  yet.  First,  you  must 
get  back  your  Winifred,  Carshaw,  and  take  care 
that  you  keep  her  when  you  get  her." 

"But  how?  Tell  me  how  to  find  her!"  came 
the  fierce  demand. 

"If  you  jump  at  me  like  that  I'll  make  you 
stop  here  another  week,"  said  Clancy.  "Man 
alive,  I  hate  humbug  as  much  as  any  man; 
but  don't  you  see  that  the  Bureau  must  make 
sure  of  its  case  before  it  acts?  We  can't  go 
before  a  judge  until  we  have  better  evidence 
than  the  vague  hearsay  of  twenty  years  ago. 
But,  for  goodness'  sake,  next  time  you  grab 
Winifred,  rush  her  to  the  nearest  clergyman 


224       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

and  make  her  Mrs.  Carshaw,  Jr.  That'll  help 
a  lot.  Leave  me  to  get  the  Senator  and  the 
rest  of  the  bunch.  Now,  if  you'll  be  good,  I'll 
show  you  the  house  where  your  Winifred  was 
born!" 


CHAPTER  XX 

IN  THE  TOILS 

EAST  ORANGE  seemed  to  be  a  long  way  from 
New  York  when  Winifred  hastened  to  the 
appointment  at  " Gateway  House,"  traveling 
thither  by  way  of  the  Tube  and  the  Lackawanna 
Railway. 

More  and  more  did  it  seem  strange  that  a 
theatrical  agent  should  fix  on  such  a  rendez- 
vous, until  a  plausible  reason  suggested  itself: 
possibly,  some  noted  impresario  had  chosen 
this  secluded  retreat,  and  the  agent  had  ar- 
ranged a  meeting  there  between  his  client  and 
the  great  man  whose  Olympian  nod  gave  suc- 
cess or  failure  to  aspirants  for  the  stage. 

The  letter  itself  was  reassuringly  explicit  as 
to  the  route  she  should  follow. 

"On  leaving  the  station,"  it  said,  "turn  to 
the  right  and  walk  a  mile  along  the  only  road 
that  presents  itself  until  you  see,  on  the  left, 
a  large  green  gate  bearing  the  name  'Gate- 
way House.'  Walk  in.  The  house  itself  is  hid- 
den by  trees,  and  stands  in  spacious  grounds. 
If  you  follow  these  directions,  you  will  have  no 
need  to  ask  the  way." 

235 


226       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

The  description  of  the  place  betokened  that 
it  was  of  some  local  importance,  and  hope  re- 
vived somewhat  in  her  sorrowing  heart  at  the 
impression  that  perhaps,  after  all,  it  was  better 
she  had  failed  in  finding  work  at  the  bindery. 

Notwithstanding  the  charming  simplicity  of 
her  nature,  Winifred  would  not  be  a  woman  if 
she  did  not  know  she  was  good-looking.  The 
stage  offered  a  career ;  work  in  the  factory  only 
yielded  existence.  Eecent  events  had  added  a 
certain  strength  of  character  to  her  sweet  face ; 
and  Miss  Goodman,  who  happened  to  be  an 
expert  dressmaker,  had  used  the  girl's  leisure 
in  her  lodgings  to  turn  her  nimble  ringers  to 
account.  Hence,  Winifred  was  dressed  with 
neat  elegance,  and  the  touch  of  winter  keen- 
ness in  the  air  gave  her  a  splendid  color  as  she 
hurried  out  of  the  station  many  minutes  late 
for  her  appointment. 

Would  she  be  asked  to  sing,  she  wondered? 
She  had  no  music  with  her,  and  had  never 
touched  a  piano  since  her  music-master's  anx- 
iety to  train  her  voice  had  been  so  suddenly 
frustrated  by  Rachel  Craik.  But  she  knew 
many  of  the  solos  from  "Faust,"  "Rigoletto," 
and  "Carmen";  surely,  among  musical  people, 
there  would  be  some  appreciation  of  her  skill 
if  tested  by  this  class  of  composition,  as  com- 
pared with  the  latest  rag-time  melody  or  gush- 
ing cabaret  ballad. 


IN  THE  TOILS  227 

Busy  with  such  thoughts,  she  hastened  along 
the  road,  until  she  awoke  with  a  start  to  the 
knowledge  that  she  was  opposite  Gateway 
House.  Certainly  the  retreat  was  admirable 
from  the  point  of  view  of  a  man  surfeited  with 
life  on  the  Great  White  Way.  Indeed,  it  looked 
very  like  a  private  lunatic  asylum  or  home  for 
inebriates,  with  its  lofty  walls  studded  with 
broken  glass,  and  its  solid  gate  crowned  with 
iron  spikes. 

Winifred  tried  the  door.  It  opened  readily. 
She  was  surprised  that  so  pretentious  an  abode 
had  no  lodge-keeper's  cottage.  There  were 
signs  of  few  vehicles  passing  over  the  weed- 
grown  gravel  drive,  and  such  marks  as  existed 
were  quite  recent. 

She  was  so  late,  however,  that  her  confused 
mind  did  not  trouble  about  these  things,  and 
she  sped  on  gracefully,  soon  coming  in  full 
view  of  the  house  itself,  it  was  now  almost 
dark,  and  the  grounds  seemed  very  lonely ;  but 
the  presence  of  lights  in  the  secluded  mansion 
gave  earnest  of  some  one  awaiting  her  there. 
She  fancied  she  heard  a  noise,  like  the  snap- 
ping of  a  latch  or  lock  behind  her.  She  turned 
her  head,  but  saw  no  one.  Fowle,  hiding  among 
the  evergreens,  had  run  with  nimble  feet  and 
sardonic  smile  to  bolt  the  gate  as  soon  as  she 
was  out  of  sight. 

And  now  Winifred  was  at  the  front  door, 


228       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

timidly  pulling  a  bell.  A  man  strolled  with  a 
marked  limp  around  the  house  from  a  conser- 
vatory. He  was  a  tall,  strongly  built  person, 
and  something  in  the  dimly  seen  outline  sent  a 
thrill  of  apprehension  through  her. 

But  the  door  opened. 

"I  have  come — "  she  began. 

The  words  died  away  in  sheer  affright.  Glow- 
ering at  her,  with  a  queer  look  of  gratified 
menace,  was  Rachel  Craik! 

"So  I  see,"  was  the  grim  retort.  "Come  in, 
Winnie,  by  all  means.  Where  have  you  been 
all  these  weeks?" 

"There  is  some  mistake,"  she  faltered,  white 
with  sudden  terror  and  nameless  suspicions. 
"My  agent  told  me  to  come  here — " 

"Quite  right.  Be  quick,  or  you'll  miss  the 
last  train  home,"  growled  the  voice  of  Voles 
behind  her. 

Roughly,  though  not  violently,  he  pushed  her 
inside,  and  the  door  closed. 

He  snapped  at  Rachel:  "She'd  be  yelling  for 
help  in  another  second,  and  you  never  know 
who  may  be  passing." 

Now,  Winifred  was  not  of  the  order  of  women 
who  faint  in  the  presence  of  danger.  Her  love 
had  given  her  a  great  strength;  her  suffering 
had  deepened  her  fine  nature;  and  her  very  soul 
rebelled  against  the  cruel  subterfuge  which  had 
been  practised  to  separate  her  from  her  lover. 


/#  THE  TOILS  229 

She  saw,  with  the  magic  intuition  of  her  sex, 
that  the  very  essence  of  a  deep-laid  plot  was 
that  Eex  and  she  should  be  kept  apart. 

The  visit  of  Mrs.  Carshaw,  then,  was  only  a 
part  of  the  same  determined  scheme?  Rex's 
mother  had  been  a  puppet  in  the  hands  of 
those  who  carried  her  to  Connecticut,  who 
strove  so  determinedly  to  take  her  away  when 
Carshaw  put  in  an  appearance,  and  who  had 
tricked  her  into  keeping  this  bogus  appoint- 
ment. She  would  defy  them,  face  death  itself 
rather  than  yield. 

In  the  America  of  to-day,  nothing  short  of 
desperate  crime  could  long  keep  her  from 
Rex's  arms.  What  a  weak,  silly,  romantic 
girl  she  had  been  not  to  trust  in  him  absolutely ! 
The  knowledge  nerved  her  to  a  fine  scorn. 

"What  right  have  you  to  treat  me  in  this 
way?"  she  cried  vehemently.  "You  have  lied 
to  me ;  brought  me  here  by  a  forged  letter.  Let 
me  go  instantly,  and  perhaps  my  just  indigna- 
tion may  not  lead  me  to  tell  my  agent  how  you 
have  dared  to  use  his  name  with  false  pre- 
tense." 

"Ho,  ho!"  sang  out  Voles.  "The  little  bird 
pipes  an  angry  note.  Be  pacified,  my  sweet 
linnet.  You  were  getting  into  bad  company. 
It  was  the  duty  of  your  relatives  to  rescue 


you." 


'My  relatives!     Who  are  they  who  claim 


230        THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

kinship?  I  see  here  one  who  posed  as  my  aunt 
for  many  years — " 

"Posed,  Winnie?" 

Miss  Craik  affected  a  croak  of  regretful  pro- 
test. 

Winifred's  eyes  shot  lightnings. 

"Yes.  I  am  sure  you  are  not  my  aunt.  Many 
things  I  can  recall  prove  it  to  me.  Wliy  do  you 
never  mention  my  father  and  mother?  What 
wrong  have  I  done  to  any  living  soul  that,  ever 
since  you  were  mixed  up  in  the  attack  on  Mr. 
Ronald  Tower,  you  should  deal  with  me  as  if 
I  were  a  criminal  or  a  lunatic,  and  seek  to  part 
me  from  those  who  would  befriend  me?" 

"Hush,  little  girl,"  interposed  Voles,  with 
mock  severity.  "You  don't  know  what  you're 
saying.  You  are  hurting  your  dear  aunt's  feel- 
ings. She  is  your  aunt.  I  ought  to  know,  con- 
sidering that  you  are  my  daughter!" 

"Your  daughter!" 

Now,  indeed,  she  felt  ready  to  dare  dragons. 
This  coarse,  brutal  giant  of  a  man  her  father ! 
Her  gorge  rose  at  the  suggestion.  Almost 
fiercely  she  resolved  to  hold  her  own  against 
these  persecutors  who  scrupled  not  to  use 
any  lying  device  that  would  suit  their  pur- 
pose. 

"Yes,"  he  cried  truculently.  "Don't  I  come 
up  to  your  expectations?" 

"If  you  are  my  father,"  she  said,  with  a 


IN  THE  TOILS  231 

strange  self-possession  that  came  to  her  aid  in 
this  trying  moment,  "where  is  my  mother ?" 

"Sorry  to  say  she  died  long  since." 

"Did  you  murder  her  as  you  tried  to  murder 
Mr.  Tower?" 

The  chance  shot  went  home,  though  it  hit  her 
callous  hearer  in  a  way  she  could  not  then  ap- 
preciate. He  swore  violently. 

"You're  my  daughter,  I  tell  you,"  he  vocif- 
erated, "and  the  first  thing  you  have  to  learn 
is  obedience.  Your  head  has  been  turned,  young 
lady,  by  your  pretty  Rex  and  his  nice  ways. 
I'll  have  to  teach  you  not  to  address  me  in  that 
fashion.  Take  her  to  her  room,  Rachel." 

Driven  to  frenzy  by  a  dreadful  and  wholly 
unexpected  predicament,  Winifred  cast  off  the 
hand  her  "aunt"  laid  on  her  shoulder. 

"Let  me  go!"  she  screamed.  "I  will  not  ac- 
company you.  I  do  not  believe  a  word  you  say. 
If  you  touch  me,  I  shall  defend  myself." 

"Spit-fire,  eh?"  she  heard  Voles  say.  There 
was  something  of  a  struggle.  She  never  knew 
exactly  what  happened.  She  found  herself 
clasped  in  his  giant  arms  and  heard  his  half 
jesting  protest: 

"Now,  my  butterfly,  don't  beat  your  little 
wings  so  furiously,  or  you'll  hurt  yourself." 

He  carried  her,  screaming,  up-stairs,  and 
pushed  her  into  a  large  room.  Rachel  Craik 
followed,  with  set  face  and  angry  words. 


232       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

"Ungrateful  girl!"  was  her  cry.  " After  all 
I've  done  for  you!" 

"You  stole  me  from  my  mother,"  sobbed 
Winifred  despairingly.  "I  am  sure  you  did. 
You  are  afraid  now  lest  some  one  should  rec- 
ognize me.  I  am  'the  image  of  my  mother' 
that  horrible  man  said,  and  I  am  to  be  taken 
away  because  I  resemble  her.  It  is  you  who 
are  frightened,  not  I.  I  defy  you.  Even  Mrs. 
Carshaw  knew  my  face.  I  scorn  you,  I  say,  and 
if  you  think  your  devices  can  deceive  me  or 
keep  Rex  from  me,  you  are  mistaken.  Before 
it  is  too  late,  let  me  go!" 

Rachel  Craik  was,  indeed,  alarmed  by  the 
girl's  hysterical  outpouring.  But  Winifred's 
taunts  worked  harm  in  one  way.  They  revealed 
most  surely  that  the  danger  dreaded  by  both 
Voles  and  Meiklejohn  did  truly  exist.  From 
that  instant  Rachel  Craik,  who  felt  beneath  her 
rough  exterior  some  real  tenderness  for  the  girl 
she  had  reared,  became  her  implacable  foe. 

"You  had  better  calm  yourself,"  she  said 
quietly.  "If  you  care  to  eat,  food  will  soon  be 
brought  for  you  and  Mr.  Grey.  He  is  your 
fellow-boarder  for  a  few  days ! ' ' 

Then  Winifred  saw,  for  the  first  time,  that 
the  spacious  room  held  another  occupant.  Re- 
clining in  a  big  chair,  and  scowling  at  her,  was 
Mick  the  Wolf,  whose  arm  Carshaw  had  broken 
recently. 


IN  THE  TOILS  233 

"Yes,"  growled  that  worthy,  "I'm  not  the 
most  cheerful  company,  missy,  but  my  other 
arm  is  strong  enough  to  put  that  fellow  of  yours 
out  o'  gear  if  he  butts  in  on  me  ag'in.  So  just 
cool  your  pretty  HI  head,  will  you?  I'm  boss 
here,  and  if  you  rile  me  it'll  be  sort  o'  awkward 
for  you." 

How  Winifred  passed  the  next  few  hours  she 
could  scarcely  remember  afterward.  She  noted, 
in  dull  agony,  that  the  windows  of  the  sitting- 
room  she  shared  with  Mick  the  Wolf  were 
barred  with  iron.  So,  too,  was  the  window  of 
her  bedroom.  The  key  and  handle  of  the  bed- 
room lock  had  been  taken  away.  Rachel  Craik 
was  her  jailer,  a  maimed  scoundrel  her  compan- 
ion and  assistant-warder. 

But,  when  the  first  paroxysms  of  helpless 
pain  and  rage  had  passed,  her  faith  returned. 
She  prayed  long  and  earnestly,  and  help  was 
vouchsafed.  Appeal  to  her  captors  was  vain, 
she  knew,  so  she  sought  the  consolation  that  is 
never  denied  to  all  who  are  afflicted. 

Neither  Rachel  Craik,  nor  the  sullen  bandit, 
nor  the  loud-voiced  rascal  who  had  dared  to  say 
he  was  her  father,  could  understand  the  cheer- 
ful patience  with  which  she  met  them  next 
day. 

"She's  a  puzzle,"  said  Voles  in  the  privacy 
of  the  apartment  beneath.  "I  must  dope  out 
some  way  of  fixin'  things.  She'll  never  come 


234       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

to  heel  again,  Rachel.  That  fool  Carshaw  has 
turned  her  head." 

He  tramped  to  and  fro  impatiently.  His 
ankle  had  not  yet  forgotten  the  wrench  it  re- 
ceived on  the  Boston  Post  Road.  Suddenly  he 
banged  a  huge  fist  on  a  sideboard. 

"Gee!"  he  cried,  "that  should  turn  the  trick! 
1*11  marry  her  off  to  Fowle.  If  it  wasn't  for 
other  considerations  I'd  be  almost  tempted — 

He  paused.  Even  his  fierce  spirit  quailed  at 
the  venom  that  gleamed  from  Rachel  Craik's 
eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

MOTHER   AND   SON 

A  TELEGRAM  reached  Carshaw  before  he  left 
Burlington  with  Clancy.  He  hoped  it  contained 
news  of  Winifred,  but  it  was  of  a  nature  that 
imposed  one  more  difficulty  in  his  path. 

"Not  later  than  the  twentieth,"  wired  the 
manager  of  the  Carshaw  Mills  in  Massachu- 
setts. -Carshaw  himself  had  inquired  the  latest 
date  on  which  he  would  be  expected  to  start 
work. 

The  offer  was  his  own,  and  he  could  not  in 
honor  begin  the  new  era  by  breaking  his  pledge. 
The  day  was  Saturday,  November  11.  On  the 
following  Monday  week  he  must  begin  to  learn 
the  rudiments  of  cotton-spinning. 

"What's  up?"  demanded  Clancy,  eying  the 
telegram,  for  Carshaw 's  face  had  hardened  at 
the  thought  that,  perhaps,  in  the  limited  time  at 
his  disposal  his  quest  might  fail.  He  passed 
the  typed  slip  to  the  detective. 

"Meaning?"  said  the  latter,  after  a  quick 
glance. 

Carshaw  explained.  "I'll  find  her,"  he 
added,  with  a  catch  of  the  breath.  "I  must 

236 


236       TEE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

find  her.  God  in  Heaven,  man,  I'll  go  mad  if  I 
don't!" 

''Cut  out  the  stage  stuff,"  said  Clancy.  "By 
this  day  week  the  Bureau  will  find  a  bunch  of 
girls  who 're  not  lost  yet — only  planning  it." 

Touched  by  the  misery  in  Carshaw's  eyes,  he 
added : 

"What  you  really  want  is  a  marriage  license. 
The  minute  you  set  eyes  on  Winifred  rush  her 
to  the  City  Hall." 

"Once  we  meet  we'll  not  part  again,"  came 
the  earnest  vow.  Somehow,  the  pert  little 
man's  overweening  egotism  was  soothing,  and 
Carshaw  allowed  his  mind  to  dwell  on  the  hap- 
piness of  holding  Winifred  in  his  arms  once 
more  rather  than  the  uncertain  prospect  of  at- 
taining such  bliss. 

Indeed,  he  was  almost  surprised  by  the  ardor 
of  his  love  for  her.  When  he  could  see  her  each 
day,  and  amuse  himself  by  playing  at  the  pre- 
tense that  she  was  to  earn  her  own  living,  there 
was  a  definite  satisfaction  in  the  thought  that 
soon  they  would  be  married,  when  all  this  pleas- 
ant make-believe  would  vanish.  But  now  that 
she  was  lost  to  him,  and  probably  enduring  no 
common  misery,  the  complacency  of  life  had 
suddenly  given  place  to  a  fierce  longing  for  a 
glimpse  of  her,  for  the  sound  of  her  voice,  for 
the  shy  glance  of  her  beautiful  eyes. 

"Now,  let's  play  ball,"  said  Clancy  when 


MOTHER  AND  SON  237 

they  were  in  a  train  speeding  south.  "Has  any 
complete  search  of  Winifred's  rooms  been 
made?'* 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"Did  you  look  in  every  hole  and  corner  for 
a  torn  envelope,  a  twisted  scrap  of  paper,  a  car 
transfer,  any  mortal  thing  that  might  reveal 
why  she  went  out  and  did  not  return!" 

"I  told  you  of  the  bookbinder's  note — " 

"You  sure  did,"  broke  in  Clancy.  "You  also 
went  to  the  bookbinder  s'teen  times.  Are  you 
certain  there  was  nothing  else?" 

"No— I  didn't  like — how  could  I  peer  and 
pry—" 

"You'd  make  a  bum  detective.  Imagine  that 
poor  girl  crying  her  eyes  out  in  a  cold  dark  cell 
all  because  you  were  too  squeamish  to  give  her 
belongings  the  once  over!" 

Carshaw  was  not  misled  by  Clancy's  manner. 
He  knew  that  his  friend  was  only  consumed  by 
impatience  to  be  on  the  trail. 

"You've  fired  plenty  of  questions  at  me,"  he 
said  quietly.  "Now  it's  my  turn.  I  understand 
why  you  came  to  Burlington,  but  where  is  Stein- 
gall  all  this  time?" 

1 '  That  big  stiff !    How  do  I  know ! ' ' 

In  a  word,  Clancy  was  uncommunicative  dur- 
ing a  whole  hour.  When  the  mood  passed  he 
spoke  of  other  things,  but,  although  it  was  ten 
at  night  when  they  reached  New  York,  he  raced 


238 

Carshaw  straight  to  East  Twenty-Seventh' 
Street  and  Miss  Goodman. 

There,  in  a  few  seconds,  he  was  reading  the 
agent's  genuine  note  to  Winifred — that  con- 
taining the  assurance  that  no  appointment  had 
been  made  for  "East  Orange." 

The  letter  concluded: 

"  At  first  I  assumed  that  a  message  intended  for  some 
other  correspondent  had  been  sent,  to  me  by  error.  Now,  on 
reperusal,  I  am  almost  convinced  that  you  wrote  me  under 
some  misapprehension.  Will  you  kindly  explain  how  it  arose  ?  " 

Clancy,  great  as  ever  on  such  occasions,  re- 
frained from  saying:  "I  told  you  so." 

"We'll  call  up  the  agent  Monday,  just  for 
the  sake  of  thoroughness,"  he  said.  "Mean- 
while, be  ready  to  come  with  me  to  East  Orange 
to-morrow  at  8  A.M." 

"Why  not  to-night?"  urged  Carshaw,  afire 
with  a  rage  to  be  up  and  doing. 

"What?  To  sleep  there?  Young  man,  you 
don't  know  East  Orange.  Eun  away  home  to 
your  ma!" 

"Where  have  you  been?"  inquired  Mrs.  Car- 
shaw when  her  son  entered.  Her  air  was  sub- 
dued. She  had  suffered  a  good  deal  these  later 
days. 

"To  Vermont." 

"Still  pursuing  that  girl?" 

"Yes,  mother." 


MOTHER  AND  SOW  "239 

"Have  you  found  her?" 

"No,  mother." 

"Rex,  have  you  driven  me  wholly  from  your 
heart?" 

"No;  that  would  be  impossible.  Winifred 
would  not  wish  it,  callous  as  you  were  to  her." 

"Do  not  be  too  hard  on  me.  I  am  sore 
wounded.  It  is  a  great  deal  for  a  woman  to  be 
cast  into  the  outer  darkness." 

"Nonsense,  mother,  you  are  emerging  into 
light.  If  your  friends  are  so  ready  to  drop  you 
because  you  are  poor — with  the  exceeding  pov- 
erty of  twenty-five  hundred  a  year — of  what 
value  were  they  as  friends?  When  you  know 
Winifred  you  will  be  glad.  You  will  feel  as 
Dante  felt  when  he  emerged  from  the  Inferno." 

"So  you  are  determined  to  marry  her?" 

"Unquestionably.  And  mark  you,  mother, 
when  the  clouds  pass,  and  we  are  rich  again, 
you  will  be  proud  of  your  daughter-in-law.  She 
will  bear  all  your  skill  in  dressing.  Gad!  how 
the  women  of  your  set  will  envy  her  complex- 
ion." 

Mrs.  Carshaw  smiled  wanly  at  that.  She 
knew  her  "set,"  as  Bex  termed  the  Four  Hun- 
dred. 

"Why  is  she  called  Bartlett?"  she  inquired 
after  a  pause,  and  Rex  looked  at  her  in  sur- 
prise. "I  have  a  reason,"  she  continued.  "Is 
that  her  real  name?" 


240       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

"Now,"  he  cried,  "I  admit  you  are  showing 
some  of  your  wonted  cleverness." 

"Ah!  Then  I  am  right.  I  have  been  think- 
ing. Cessation  from  society  duties  is  at  least 
restful.  Last  night,  lying  awake  and  wonder- 
ing where  you  were,  my  thoughts  reverted  to 
that  girl.  I  remembered  her  face.  All  at  once 
a  long-forgotten  chord  of  memory  hummed  its 
note.  Twenty  years  ago,  when  you  were  a  little 
boy,  Rex,  I  met  a  Mrs.  Marchbanks.  She  was 
a  sweet  singer.  Does  your  Winifred  sing?" 

Carshaw  drew  his  chair  closer  to  his  mother 
and  placed  an  arm  around  her  shoulder. 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

"Bex,"  she  murmured  brokenly,  hiding  her 
face,  "do  you  forgive  me?" 

"Mother,  I  ask  you  to  forgive  me  if  I  said 
harsh  things." 

There  was  silence  for  a  while.  Then  she 
raised  her  eyes.  They  were  wet,  but  smiling. 

"This  Mrs.  Marchbanks,"  she  went  on 
bravely,  "had  your  Winifred's  face.  She  was 
wealthy  and  altogether  charming.  Her  hus- 
band, too,  was  a  gentleman.  She  was  a  ward  of 
the  elder  Meiklejohn,  the  present  Senator's 
father.  My  recollection  of  events  is  vague,  but 
there  was  some  scandal  in  Burlington." 

"I  know  all,  or  nearly  all,  about  it.  That  is 
why  I  was  called  to  Vermont.  Mother,  in  fu- 
ture, you  will  work  with  me,  not  against  me?" 


MOTHER  AND  SON  241 

"I  will — indeed  I  will,"  she  sobbed. 

"Then  you  must  not  drop  your  car.  I  have 
money  to  pay  for  that.  Keep  in  with  Helen 
Tower,  and  find  out  what  hold  she  has  on  Meik- 
lejohn.  You  are  good  at  that,  you  know.  You 
understand  your  quarry.  You  will  be  worth 
twenty  detectives.  First,  discover  where  Meik- 
lejohn  is.  He  has  bolted,  or  shut  himself 
up." 

"You  must  trust  me  fully,  or  I  shall  not  see 
the  pitfalls.  Tell  me  everything." 

He  obeyed.  Before  he  had  ended,  Mrs.  Car- 
shaw  was  weeping  again,  but  this  time  it  was 
out  of  sympathy  with  Winifred.  Next  morn- 
ing, although  it  was  Sunday,  her  smart  limou- 
sine took  her  to  the  Tower's  house.  Mrs. 
Tower  was  at  home. 

"I  have  heard  dreadful  things  about  you, 
Sarah,"  she  purred.  "What  on  earth  is  the 
matter?  Why  have  you  given  up  your  place 
on  Long  Island?" 

"A  whim  of  Rex's,  my  dear.  He  is  still  in- 
fatuated over  that  girl." 

"She  must  have  played  her  cards  well." 

"Yes,  indeed.  One  does  not  look  for  such 
skill  in  the  lower  orders.  And  how  she  de- 
ceived me!  I  went  to  see  her,  and  she  prom- 
ised better  behavior.  Now  I  find  she  has  gone 
again,  and  Rex  will  not  tell  me  where  she  is. 
po  you  knowj" 


242       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

"If    The  creature  never  enters  my  mind." 

"Of  course  not.  She  does  not  interest  you, 
but  I  am  the  boy's  mother,  and  you  cannot  im- 
agine, Helen,  how  this  affair  worries  me." 

"My  poor  Sarah!    It  is  too  bad." 

"Such  a  misfortune  could  not  have  happened 
had  his  father  lived.  We  women  are  of  no  use 
where  a  headstrong  man  is  concerned.  I  am 
thinking  of  consulting  Senator  Meiklejohn.  He 
is  discreet  and  experienced." 

"But  he  is  not  in  town." 

"What  a  calamity!  Do  tell  me  where  I  can 
find  him." 

"I  have  reason  to  know  that  Rex  would  not 
brook  any  interference  from  him." 

"Oh,  no,  of  course  not.  It  would  never  do  to 
permit  his  influence  to  appear.  I  was  thinking 
that  the  Senator  might  act  with  the  girl,  this 
wonderful  Winifred.  He  might  frighten  her, 
or  bribe  her,  or  something  of  the  sort." 

Now,  Helen  Tower  was  not  in  Meiklejohn 's 
confidence.  He  was  compelled  to  trust  her  in 
the  matter  of  the  Costa  Rica  concession,  but 
he  was  far  too  wise  to  let  her  into  any  secret 
where  Winifred  was  concerned.  Anxious  to 
stab  with  another's  hand,  she  thought  that  Mrs. 
Carshaw  might  be  used  to  punish  her  wayward 
son. 

"I'm  not  sure — "  She  paused  doubtfully. 
"I  do  happen  to  know  Mr.  Meikle John's  where- 


MOTHER  AND  SON  243 

abouts,  but  it  is  most  important  he  should  not 
be  troubled." 

"  Helen,  you  used  to  like  Rex  more  than  a 
little.  With  an  effort,  I  can  save  him  still." 

"But  he  may  suspect  you,  have  you  watched, 
your  movements  tracked." 

Mrs.  Carshaw  laughed.  "My  dear,  he  is  far 
too  much  taken  up  with  his  Winifred." 

"Has  he  found  her,  then?" 

"Does  he  not  see  her  daily?" 

Here  were  cross  purposes.  Mrs.  Tower  was 
puzzled. 

"If  I  tell  you  where  the  Senator  is,  you  are 
sure  Rex  will  not  follow  you?" 

"Quite  certain." 

"His  address  is  the  Marlborough-Blenheim, 
Atlantic  City." 

"Helen,  you're  a  dear!  I  shall  go  there  to- 
morrow, if  necessary.  But  it  will  be  best  to 
write  him  first. ' ' 

"Don't  say  I  told  you." 

"Above  all  things,  Helen,  I  am  discreet." 

"I  fear  he  cannot  do  much.  Your  son  is 
so  wilful." 

"Don't  you  understand?  Rex  is  quite  un- 
manageable. I  depend  wholly  on  the  girl — and 
Senator  Meiklejohn  is  just  the  man  to  deal  with 
her." 

They  kissed  farewell — alas,  those  Judas 
kisses  of  women  I  Both  were  satisfied*  each  be* 


244       TEE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

lieving  she  had  hoodwinked  the  other.  Mrs. 
Carshaw  returned  to  her  flat  to  await  her  son's 
arrival.  If  the  trail  at  East  Orange  proved 
difficult  he  promised  to  be  home  for  dinner. 

"There  will  be  a  row  if  Rex  meets  Meikle- 
john,"  she  communed.  "Helen  will  be  furious 
with  me.  What  do  I  care?  I  have  won  back 
my  son's  love.  I  have  not  many  years  to  live. 
What  else  have  I  to  work  for  if  not  for  his 
happiness?" 

So  one  woman  in  New  York  that  night  was 
fairly  well  content.  There  may  be,  as  the 
Chinese  proverb  has  it,  thirty-six  different 
kinds  of  mothers-in-law,  but  there  is  only  one 
mother. 


CHAPTER  XXII 


THE   HUNT 

STEINGALL,  not  Clancy,  presented  his  bulk  at 
Carsliaw's  apartment  next  morning.  He  con- 
trived to  have  a  few  minutes'  private  talk  with 
Mrs.  Carshaw  while  her  son  was  dressing. 
Early  as  it  was,  he  lighted  a  second  cigar  as  he 
stepped  into  the  automobile,  for  Carshaw 
thought  it  an  economy  to  retain  a  car. 

''Surprised  to  see  me?"  he  began.  "Well, 
it's  this  way.  We  may  drop  in  for  a  rough- 
house  to-day.  Between  them,  Voles  and  *Mlck 
the  Wolf,'  own  three  sound  legs  and  three 
strong  arms.  I  can't  risk  Clancy.  He's  too 
precious.  He  kicked  like  a  mule,  of  course,  but 
I  made  it  an  order." 

"What  of  the  local  police?"  said  Carhsaw. 

"Nix  on  the  cops,"  laughed  the  chief.  "You 
share  the  popular  delusion  that  a  policeman  can 
arrest  any  one  at  sight.  He  can  do  nothing  of 
the  sort,  unless  he  and  his  superior  officers  care 
to  face  a  whacking  demand  for  damages.  And 
what  charge  can  we  bring  against  Voles  and 
company?  Winifred  bolted  of  her  own  accord. 
We  must  tread  lightly,  Mr.  Carshaw.  Really, 

245 


246       TEE  BAETLETT  MYSTERY 

I  shouldn't  be  here  at  all.  I  came  only  to  help, 
to  put  you  on  the  right  trail,  to  see  that  Wini- 
fred is  not  detained  by  force  if  she  wishes  to 
accompany  you.  Do  you  get  me?" 

"I  believe  there  is  good  authority  for  the 
statement  that  the  law  is  an  ass,"  grumbled 
the  other. 

"Not  the  law.  Personal  liberty  has  to  be 
safeguarded  by  the  law.  Millions  of  men  have 
died  to  uphold  that  principle.  Remember,  too, 
that  I  may  have  to  explain  in  court  why  I  did 
so-and-so.  Strange  as  it  may  sound,  I've  been 
taught  wisdom  by  legal  adversity.  Now,  let's 
talk  of  the  business  in  hand.  It's  an  odd  thing, 
but  people  who  wish  to  do  evil  deeds  often 
select  secluded  country  places  to  live  in.  I 
don't  mind  betting  a  box  of  cigars  that  'East 
Orange'  means  a  quiet,  old-fashioned  locality 
where  there  isn't  a  crime  once  in  a  genera- 
tion." 

"Some  spot  one  would  never  suspect,  eh?" 

"Yes,  in  a  sense.  But  if  ever  I  set  up  as 
a  crook — which  is  unlikely,  as  my  pension  is 
due  in  eighteen  months — I'll  live  in  a  Broad- 
way flat." 

"I  thought  the  city  police  kept  a  very  close 
eye  on  evil-doers." 

"Yes,  when  we  know  them.  But  your  real 
expert  is  not  known;  once  held  he's  done  for. 
Of  course  he  tries  again,  but  he  is  a  marked 


THE  HUNT  247 

man — he  has  lost  his  confidence.  Nevertheless, 
he  will  always  try  to  be  with  the  crowd.  There 
is  safety  in  numbers." 

"Do  you  mean  that  East  Orange  is  a  place 
favorable  to  our  search?" 

"Of  course  it  is.  The  police,  the  letter- 
carriers,  and  the  storekeepers,  know  everybody. 
They  can  tell  us  at  once  of  several  hundred 
people  who  certainly  had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  abduction  of  a  young  lady.  There  will  re- 
main a  few  dozens  who  might  possibly  be  con- 
cerned in  such  an  affair.  Inquiry  will  soon 
whittle  -them  down  to  three  or  four  individuals. 
What  a  different  job  it  would  be  if  we  had  to 
search  a  New  York  precinct,  which,  I  take  it, 
is  about  as  populous  as  East  Orange." 

This  was  a  new  point  of  view  to  Carshaw,  and 
it  cheered  him  proportionately.  He  stepped  on 
the  gas,  and  a  traffic  policeman  at  Forty-Second 
Street  and  Seventh  Avenue  cocked  an  eye  at 
him. 

"Steady,"  laughed  Steingall.  "It  would  be 
a  sad  blow  for  mother  if  we  were  held  for 
furious  driving.  These  blessed  machines  jump 
from  twelve  to  forty  miles  an  hour  before  you 
can  wink  twice." 

Carshaw  abated  his  ardor.  Nevertheless, 
they  were  in  East  Orange  forty  minutes  after 
crossing  the  ferry. 

Unhappily,  from  that  hour,  the  pace  slack- 


248       THE  BAETLETT  MYSTERY 

ened.  Gateway  House  had  been  rented  from  a 
New  York  agent  for  "Mr.  and  Mrs.  Forest,'* 
Westerners  who  wished  to  reside  in  New  Jer- 
sey a  year  or  so. 

Its  occupants  had  driven  thither  from  New 
York.  Eachel  Craik,  heavily  veiled  and  quietly 
attired,  did  her  shopping  in  the  nearest  suburb, 
and  had  choice  of  more  than  one  line  of  rail. 
So  East  Orange  knew  them  not,  nor  had  it  even 
seen  them. 

In  nowise  discouraged,  the  man  from  the 
Bureau  set  about  his  inquiry  methodically.  He 
interviewed  policemen,  railway  officials,  post- 
men, and  cabmen.  Although  the  day  was  Sun- 
day, he  tracked  men  to  their  homes  and  led 
them  to  talk.  Empty  houses,  recently  let 
houses,  houses  tenanted  by  people  who  were 
"not  particular"  as  to  their  means  of  getting 
a  living,  divided  his  attention  with  persons  who 
answered  to  the  description  of  Voles,  Fowle, 
Rachel,  or  even  the  broken-armed  Mick  the 
Wolf ;  while  he  plied  every  man  with  a  minutely 
accurate  picture  of  Winifred. 

Hither  and  thither  darted  the  motor  till  East 
Orange  was  scoured  and  noted,  and  among 
twenty  habitations  jotted  in  the  detective's  note- 
book the  name  of  Gateway  House  figured.  It 
was  slow  work,  this  task  of  elimination,  but 
they  persisted,  meeting  rebuff  after  rebuff,  es- 


THE  HUNT  249 

pecially  in  the  one  or  two  instances  where  a 
couple  of  sharp-looking  strangers  in  a  car  were 
distinctly  not  welcome.  They  had  luncheon  at 
a  local  hotel,  and,  by  idle  chance,  were  not 
pleased  by  the  way  in  which  the  meal  was 
served. 

So,  when  hungry  again,  and  perhaps  a  trifle 
dispirited  as  the  day  waned  to  darkness  with  no 
result,  they  went  to  another  inn  to  procure  a 
meal.  This  time  they  were  better  looked  after. 
Instead  of  a  jaded  German  waiter  they  were 
served  by  the  landlord's  daughter,  a  neat,  be- 
frilled  young  damsel,  who  cheered  them  by  her 
smile ;  though,  to  be  candid,  she  was  anxious  to 
get  out  for  a  walk  with  her  young  man. 

4 'Have  you  traveled  far!"  she  asked,  by  way 
of  talk  while  laying  the  table. 

"From  New  York,"  said  Steingall. 

"At  this  hour — in  a  carl" 

"Yes.    Is  that  a  remarkable  thing  here?" 

"Not  the  car;  but  people  in  motors  either 
whizz  through  of  a  morning  going  away  down 
the  coast,  or  whizz  back  again  of  an  evening 
returning  to  New  York." 

"Ah!"  put  in  Carshaw,  "here  is  a  pretty 
head  which  holds  brains.  It  goes  in  for  ratio- 
cinative  reasoning.  Now,  I'll  be  bound  to  say 
that  this  pretty  head,  which  thinks,  can  help 
us." 


250       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

A  good  deal  of  this  was  lost  on  the  girl,  but 
she  caught  the  compliment  and  smiled. 

"It  all  depends  on  what  you  want  to  know," 
she  said. 

"I  really  want  to  find  a  private  prison  of 
some  sort,"  he  said.  "The  sort  of  place  where 
a  nice-looking  young  lady  like  you  might  be 
kept  in  against  her  will  by  nasty,  ill-disposed 
people." 

"There  is  only  one  house  of  that  kind  in  the 
town,  and  that  is  out  of  it,  as  an  Irishman 
might  say." 

"And  where  is  it?" 

"It's  called  Gateway  House — about  a  mile 
along  the  road  from  the  depot." 

Steingall,  inclined  at  first  to  doubt  the  ex- 
pediency of  gossip  with  the  girl,  now  pricked 
up  his  ears. 

"Who  lives  in  Gateway  House?"  he  asked. 

"No  one  that  I  know  of  at  the  moment,"  she 
answered.  "It  used  to  belong  to  a  mad  doc- 
tor. I  don't  mean  a  doctor  who  was  mad, 
but " 

"No  matter  about  his  sanity.    Is  he  dead?" 

"No,  in  prison.  There  was  a  trial  two  years 
ago." 

"Oh!  I  remember  the  affair.  A  patient  was 
beaten  to  death.  So  the  house  is  empty!" 

"It  is,  unless  some  one  has  rented  it  recently. 
I  was  taken  through  the  place  months  ago.  The 


THE  HUNT  251 

rooms  are  all  right,  and  it  has  beautiful 
grounds,  but  the  windows  frightened  me.  They 
were  closely  barred  with  iron,  and  the  doors 
were  covered  with  locks  and  chains.  There 
were  some  old  beds  there,  too,  with  straps  on 
them.  Oh,  I  quite  shivered!" 

''After  we  have  eaten  will  you  let  us  drive 
you  in  that  direction  in  my  car?"  said  Car- 
shaw. 

She  simpered  and  blushed  slightly.  "I've 
an  appointment  with  a  friend,"  she  admitted, 
wondering  whether  the  swain  would  protest  too 
strongly  if  she  accepted  the  invitation. 

1 '  Bring  him  also, ' '  said  Carshaw.  ' '  I  assume 
it's  a  'he.'  " 

"Oh,  that'll  be  all  right!"  she  cried. 

So  in  the  deepening  gloom  the  automobile 
flared  with  fierce  eyes  along  the  quiet  road  to 
Gateway  House,  and  in  its  seat  of  honor  sat 
the  hotel  maid  and  her  voung  man. 

"That  is  the  place,"  she  said,  after  the,  to 
her,  all  too  brief  run. 

"Is  this  the  only  entrance?"  demanded  the 
chief,  as  he  stepped  out  to  try  the  gate. 

"Yes.  The  high  wall  runs  right  round  the 
property.  It's  quite  a  big  place." 

' '  Locked ! "  he  announced.  '  *  Probably  empty, 
too." 

He  tried  squinting  through  the  keyhole  to 
catch  a  gleam  of  interior  light. 


252        TEE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY., 

"No  use  in  doin'  that,"  announced  the  young 
man.  "The  house  stands  way  back,  an'  is  hid- 
den by  trees." 

"I  mean  having  a  look  at  it,  wall  or  no  wall," 
insisted  Carshaw. 

"But  the  gate  is  spiked  and  the  wall  covered 
with  broken  glass,"  said  the  girl. 

"Such  obstacles  can  be  surmounted  by  lad- 
ders and  folded  tarpaulins,  or  even  thick  over- 
coats," observed  Steingall. 

"I'm  a  plumber,"  said  the  East  Orange  man. 
"If  you  care  to  run  back  to  my  place,  I  c'n 
give  you  a  telescope  ladder  and  a  tarpaulin. 
But  perhaps  we  may  butt  into  trouble?" 

"For  shame,  Jim!  I  thought  you'd  do  a 
little  thing  like  that  to  help  a  girl  in  distress." 

"First  I've  heard  of  any  girl." 

"My  name  is  Carshaw,"  came  the  prompt  as- 
surance. "Here's  my  card;  read  it  by  the  lamp 
there.  I'll  guarantee  you  against  consequences, 
pay  any  damages,  and  reward  you  if  our  search 
yields  results." 

"Jim — "  commenced  the  girl  reproachfully, 
but  he  stayed  her  with  a  squeeze. 

"Cut  it  out,  Polly,"  he  said.  "You  don't 
wish  me  to  start  housebreaking,  do  you?  But  if 
there's  a  lady  to  be  helped,  an'  Mr.  Carshaw 
says  it's  O.K.,  I'm  on.  A  fellow  who  was  with 
Funston  in  the  Philippines  won't  sidestep  a 
little  job  of  that  sort." 


THE  HUNT  253 

Polly,  appeased  and  delighted  with  the  ad- 
venture, giggled.  "I'd  think  not,  indeed." 

"It  is  lawbreaking,  but  I  am  inclined  to  back 
you  up,"  confided  Steingall  to  Carshaw  when 
the  car  was  humming  back  to  East  Orange. 
"At  the  worst  you  can  only  be  charged  with 
trespass,  as  my  evidence  will  be  taken  that  you 
had  no  unlawful  intent." 

"Won't  you  come  with  me?" 

"Better  not.  You  see,  I  am  only  helping  you. 
You  have  an  excuse ;  I,  as  an  official,  have  none 
— if  a  row  springs  up  and  doors  have  to  be 
kicked  open,  for  instance.  Moreover,  this  is  the 
State  of  New  Jersey  and  outside  my  baili- 
wick. ' ' 

"Perhaps  the  joker  behind  us  may  be  use- 
ful." 

"He  will  be,  or  his  girl  will  know  the  reason 
why.  He  may  have  fought  in  every  battle  in 
the  Spanish  War,  but  she  has  more  pep  in 
her." 

The  soldierly  plumber  was  as  good  as  his 
word.  He  produced  the  ladder  and  the  tar- 
paulin, and  a  steel  wrench  as  well. 

"If  you  do  a  thing  at  all  do  it  thor- 
oughly. That's  what  Funston  taught  us,"  he 
grinned. 

Carshaw  thanked  him,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
they  were  again  looking  at  the  tall  gate  and  the 
dark  masses  of  the  garden  trees  silhouetted 


against  the  sky.  They  had  not  encountered 
many  wayfarers  during  their  three  journeys. 
The  presence  of  a  car  at  the  entrance  to  such 
a  pretentious  place  would  not  attract  attention, 
and  the  scaling  of  the  wall  was  only  a  matter 
of  half  a  minute. 

"No  use  in  raising  the  dust  by  knocking.  Go 
over,"  counseled  Steingall.  "Try  to  open  the 
gate.  Then  you  can  return'  the  ladder  and  tar- 
paulin at  once.  Otherwise,  leave  them  in  posi- 
tion. If  satisfied  that  the  house  is  inhabited 
by  those  with  whom  you  have  no  concern,  come 
away  unnoticed,  if  possible." 

Carshaw  climbed  the  ladder,  sat  on  the  tar- 
paulin, and  dropped  the  ladder  on  the  inner  side 
of  the  wall.  They  heard  him  shaking  the  gate. 
His  head  reappeared  over  the  wall. 

"Locked,"  he  said,  "and  the  key  gone.  I'll 
come  back  and  report  quickly. ' ' 

Jim,  who  had  been  nudged  earnestly  several 
times  by  his  companion,  cried  quickly: 

"Isn't  your  friend  goin'  along,  too,  mister?" 

"No.  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  I  am  a 
detective,"  put  in  Steingall. 

"Gee  whizz!  Why  didn't  you  cough  it  up 
earlier?  Hoi'  on,  there!  Lower  that  ladder. 
I'm  with  you." 

"Good  old  U.  S.  Army!"  said  Steingall,  and 
Polly  glowed  with  pride. 

Jim  climbed  rapidly  to  Carshaw 's  side,  the 


THE  HUNT  255 

latter  being  astride  the  wall.  Then  they  van- 
ished. 

For  a  long  time  the  two  in  the  car  listened 
intently.  A  couple  of  cyclists  passed,  and  a 
small  boy,  prowling  about,  took  an  interest  in 
the  car,  but  was  sternly  warned  off  by  Stein- 
gall.  At  last  they  caught  the  faint  but  easily 
discerned  sound  of  heavy  blows  and  broken 
woodwork. 

" Things  are  happening,"  cried  Steingall. 
"I  wish  I  had  gone  with  them." 

"Ohj  I  hope  my  Jim  won't  get  hurt,"  said 
Polly,  somewhat  pale  now. 

They  heard  more  furious  blows  and  the 
crash  of  glass. 

" Confound  it!"  growled  Steingall.  "Why 
didn't  I  go?" 

"If  I  stood  on  the  back  of  the  car  against 
the  gate,  and  you  climbed  onto  my  shoulders, 
you  might  manage  to  stand  between  the  spikes 
and  jump  down,"  cried  Polly  desperately. 

"Great  Scott,  but  you're  the  right  sort  of 
girl.  The  wall  is  too  high,  but  the  gate  is  pos- 
sible. I'll  try  it,"  he  answered. 

With  difficulty,  having  only  slight  knowledge 
of  heavy  cars,  he  backed  the  machine  against 
the  gate.  Then  the  girl  caught  the  top  with 
her  hands,  standing  on  the  back  cushions. 

Steingall  was  no  light  weight  for  her  soft 
shoulders,  but  she  uttered  no  word  until  she 


256       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

heard  him  drop  heavily  on  the  gravel  drive 
within. 

''Thank  goodness!"  she  whispered.  "There 
are  three  of  them  now.  I  only  wish  I  was  there, 
too!" 


CHAPTER  XXHI 

"HE   WHO   FIGHTS  AND   RUNS   AWAY — " 

"I  DON'T  like  the  proposition,  an'  that's  a 
fact, ' '  muttered  Fowle,  lifting  a  glass  of  whisky 
and  glancing  furtively  at  Voles,  when  the  dom- 
ineering eyes  of  the  superior  scoundrel  were 
averted  for  a  moment. 

" Whether  you  like  it  or  not,  you've  got  to 
lump  it,"  was  the  ready  answer. 

"I  don't  see  that.  I  agreed  to  help  you  up 
to  a  certain  point " 

Voles  swung  around  at  him  furiously,  as  a 
mastiff  might  turn  on  a  wretched  mongrel. 

"Say,  listen!  If  I'm  up  to  the  neck  in  this 
business,  you're  in  it  over  your  ears.  You 
can't  duck  now,  you  white-livered  cur!  The 
cops  know  you.  They  had  you  in  their  hands 
once,  and  warned  you  to  leave  this  girl  alone. 
If  I  stand  in  the  dock  you'll  stand  there,  too, 
and  I'm  not  the  man  to  say  the  word  that'll 
save  you." 

"But  she's  with  her  aunt.  She's  under  age. 
Her  aunt  is  her  legal  guardian.  I  know  a  bit 
about  the  law,  you  see.  This  notion  of  yours 

257 


258       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

is  a  bird  of  another  color.  Sham  weddings  are 
no  joke.  It  will  mean  ten  years." 

'  *  Who  wants  you  to  go  in  for  a  sham  wedding, 
you  swab?" 

"You  do,  or  I  haven't  got  the  hang  of 
things. ' ' 

Voles  looked  as  though  he  would  like  to 
hammer  his  argument  into  Fowle  with  his  fists. 
He  forebore.  There  was  too  much  at  stake  to 
allow  a  sudden  access  of  bad  temper  to  defeat 
his  ends. 

He  was  tired  of  vagabondage.  It  was  true, 
as  he  told  his  brother  long  before,  that  he  hun- 
gered for  the  flesh-pots  of  Egypt,  for  the  life 
and  ease  and  gayety  of  New  York.  An  unex- 
pected vista  had  opened  up  before  him.  When 
he  came  back  to  the  East  his  intention  was  to 
squeeze  funds  out  of  Meiklejohn  wherewith  to 
plunge  again  into  the  outer  wilderness.  Now 
events  had  conspired  to  give  him  some  chance 
of  earning  a  fortune  quickly,  had  not  the  irony 
of  fate  raised  the  winsome  face  and  figure  of 
Winifred  as  a  bogey  from  the  grave  to  bar  his 
path. 

So  he  choked  back  his  wrath,  and  shoved  the 
decanter  of  spirits  across  the  table  to  his  mo- 
rose companion.  They  were  sitting  in  the  hall 
of  Gateway  House,  about  the  hour  that  Car- 
shaw  and  the  detective,  tired  by  their  weary 
hunt  through  East  Orange,  sought  the  inn. 


"HE  WHO  FIGHTS  AND  RUNS"    259 

"Now  look  here,  Fowle,"  he  said,  "don't 
be  a  poor  dub,  and  don't  kick  at  my  way  of 
speaking.  For  Dios!  man,  I've  lived  too  long 
in  the  sage  country  to  scrape  my  tongue  to  a 
smooth  spiel  like  my — my  friend,  the  Senator. 
Let's  look  squarely  at  the  facts.  You  admire 
the  girl?" 

"Who  wouldn't?  A  pippin,  every  inch  of 
her." 

"You're  broke?" 

"Well— er— " 

"You  were  fired  from  your  last  job.  You're 
in  wrong  with  the  police.  You  adopted  a  dis- 
guise and  told  lies  about  Winifred  to  those  who 
would  employ  her.  What  chance  have  you  of 
getting  back  into  your  trade,  even  if  you'd  be 
satisfied  with  it  after  having  lived  like  a  plute 
for  weeks?" 

"That  goes,"  said  Fowle,  waving  his  pipe. 

"You'd  like  to  hand  one  to  that  fellow  Car- 
shaw?" 

"Wouldn't  I!" 

"Yet  you  kick  like  a  steer  when  I  offer  you 
the  girl,  a  soft,  well-paid  job,  and  the  worst 
revenge  you  can  take  on  Carshaw." 

"Yes,  all  damn  fine.  But  the  risk — the  in- 
fernal risk ! ' ' 

"That's  where  I  don't  agree  with  you.  You 
go  away  with  her  and  her  father — " 

"Father!    You're  not  her  father!" 


260       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

"You  should  be  the  first  to  believe  it.  Her 
aunt  will  swear  it  to  you  or  to  any  judge  in  the 
country.  Once  out  of  the  United  States,  she 
will  be  only  too  glad  to  avail  herself  of  the 
protection  matrimony  is  supposed  to  offer. 
What  are  you  afraid  of!" 

"You  talked  of  puttin'  up  some  guy  to  pre- 
tend to  marry  us. ' ' 

"Forget  it.  We  can't  keep  her  insensible  or 
dumb  for  days.  But,  in  the  company  of  her 
loving  father  and  her  devoted  husband,  what 
can  she  do  f  Who  will  believe  her  f  Depend  on 
me  to  have  the  right  sort  of  boys  on  the  ship. 
They'll  just  grin  at  her.  By  the  time  she 
reaches  Costa  Eica  she'll  be  howling  for  a  mis- 
sionary to  come  aboard  in  order  to  satisfy  her 
scruples.  You  can  suggest  it  yourself." 

"I  believe  she'd  die  sooner." 

"What  matter?  You  only  lose  a  pretty  wife. 
There's  lots  more  of  the  same  sort  when  your 
wad  is  thick  enough.  Why,  man,  it  means  a 
three-months'  trip  and  a  fortune  for  life,  how- 
ever things  turn  out.  You're  tossing  against 
luck  with  an  eagle  on  both  sides  of  the  quarter." 

Fowle  hesitated.  The  other  suppressed  a 
smile.  He  knew  his  man. 

"Don't  decide  in  a  minute,"  he  said  seriously. 
"But,  once  settled,  there  must  be  no  shirking. 
Make  up  your  mind  either  to  go  straight  ahead 
by  my  orders  or  clear  out  to-night.  I'll  give 


"HE  WHO  FIGHTS  AND  RUNS"   261 

you  a  ten-spot  to  begin  life  again.    After  that 
don't  come  near  me." 

"I'll  do  it,"  said  Fowle,  and  they  shook 
hands  on  their  compact. 

It  was  not  in  Winifred's  nature  to  remain 
long  in  a  state  of  active  resentment  with  any 
human  being.  A  prisoner,  watched  diligently 
during  the  day,  locked  into  her  room  at  night, 
she  met  Rachel  Craik's  grim  espionage  and 
Mick  the  Wolf's  evil  temper  with  an  equable 
cheerfulness  that  exasperated  the  one  while 
mollifying  the  other. 

She  wondered  greatly  what  they  meant  to  do 
with  her.  It  was  impossible  to  believe  that  in 
the  State  of  New  Jersey,  within  a  few  miles  of 
New  York,  they  could  keep  her  indefinitely  in 
close  confinement.  She  knew  that  her  Rex 
would  move  heaven  and  earth  to  rescue  her. 
She  knew  that  the  authorities,  in  the  person  of 
Mr.  Steingall,  would  take  up  the  hunt  with  un- 
wearying diligence,  and  she  reasoned,  acutely 
enough,  that  a  plot  which  embraced  in  its  scope 
so  many  different  individuals  could  not  long 
defy  the  efforts  made  to  elucidate  it. 

How  thankful  she  was  now  that  she  had  at 
last  written  and  posted  that  long-deferred  letter 
to  the  agent.  Here,  surely,  was  a  clue  to  be 
followed — she  had  quite  forgotten,  in  the  first 
whirlwind  of  her  distress,  the  second  letter 


262       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

which  reached  her  in  the  Twenty-Seventh 
Street  lodgings,  but  pinned  her  faith  to  the  fact 
that  her  own  note  concerning  the  appointment 
"near  East  Orange"  was  in  existence. 

Perhaps  her  sweetheart  was  already  rushing 
over  every  road  in  the  place  and  making  ex- 
haustive inquiries  about  her.  It  was  possible 
that  he  had  passed  Gateway  House  more  than 
once.  He  might  have  seen  amid  the  trees  the 
tall  chimneys  of  the  very  jail  against  whose 
iron  bars  her  spirit  wab  fluttering  in  fearful 
hope.  Oh,  why  was  she  not  endowed  with  that 
power  she  had  read  of,  whose  fortunate  posses- 
sors could  leap  time  and  space  in  their  astral 
subconsciousness  and  make  known  their 
thoughts  and  wishes  to  those  dear  to  them? 

She  even  smiled  at  the  conceit  that  a  true 
wireless  telegraphy  did  exist  between  Carshaw 
and  herself.  Daily,  nightly,  she  thought  of  him 
and  he  of  her.  But  their  alphabet  was  lacking; 
they  could  utter  only  the  thrilling  language  of 
love,  which  is  not  bound  by  such  earthly  things 
as  signs  and  symbols. 

Yet  was  she  utterly  confident,  and  her  de- 
meanor rendered  Rachel  Craik  more  and  more 
suspicious.  Since  the  girl  had  scornfully  dis- 
owned her  kinship,  the  elder  woman  had  not 
made  further  protest  on  that  score.  She  frankly 
behaved  as  a  wardress  in  a  prison,  and  Wini- 
fred as  frankly  accepted  the  role  of  prisoner. 


"HE  WHO  FIGHTS  AND  RUNS"    263 

There  remained  Mick  the  Wolf.  Under  the  cir- 
cumstances, no  doctor  or  professional  nurse 
could  be  brought  to  attend  his  injured  arm. 
The  broken  limb  had  of  course  been  properly 
set  after  the  accident,  but  it  required  skilled 
dressing  daily,  and  this  Winifred  undertook. 
She  had  no  real  knowledge  of  the  subject,  but 
her  willingness  to  help,  joined  to  the  instruc- 
tion given  by  the  man  himself,  achieved  her 
object. 

It  was  well-nigh  impossible  for  this  rough, 
callous  rogue,  brought  in  contact  with  such  a 
girl  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  to  resist  her 
influence.  She  did  not  know  it,  but  gradually 
she  was  winning  him  to  her  side.  He  swore 
at  her  as  the  cause  of  his  suffering,  yet  found 
himself  regretting  even  the  passive  part  he  was 
taking  in  her  imprisonment. 

On  the  very  Sunday  evening  that  Voles  and 
Fowle  were  concocting  their  vile  and  myster- 
ious scheme,  Mick  the  Wolf,  their  trusted  as- 
sociate, partner  of  Voles  in  many  a  desperate 
enterprise  in  other  lands,  was  sitting  in  an 
armchair  up-stairs  listening  to  Winifred  read- 
ing from  a  book  she  had  found  in  her  bedroom. 
It  was  some  simple  story  of  love  and  adventure, 
and  certainly  its  author  had  never  dreamed  that 
his  exciting  situations  would  be  perused  under 
conditions  as  dramatic  as  any  pictured  in  the 
novel. 


264       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

1  'It's  a  queer  thing,"  said  the  man  after  a 
pause,  when  Winifred  stopped  to  light  a  lamp, 
''but  nobody  pipin'  us  just  now  'ud  think  we 
was  what  we  are." 

She  laughed  at  the  involved  sentence.  "I 
don't  think  you  are  half  so  bad  as  you  think 
you  are,  Mr.  Grey,"  she  said  softly.  "For  my 
part,  I  am  happy  in  the  belief  that  my  friends 
will  not  desert  me. ' ' 

"Lookut  here,"  he  said  with  gruff  sym- 
pathy, "why  don't  you  pull  with  your  people 
instead  of  ag'in'  'em.  I  know  what  I'm  talkin' 
about.  This  yer  Voles — but,  steady!  Mebbe 
I  best  shut  up." 

Winifred's  heart  bounded.  If  this  man  would 
speak  he  might  tell  her  something  of  great  value 
to  her  lover  and  Mr.  Steingall  when  they  came 
to  reckon  up  accounts  with  her  persecutors. 

"Anything  you  tell  me,  Mr.  Grey,  shall  not 
be  repeated,"  she  said. 

He  glanced  toward  the  door.  She  understood 
his  thought.  Eachel  Craik  was  preparing  their 
evening  meal.  She  might  enter  the  room  at 
any  moment,  and  it  was  not  advisable  that  she 
should  suspect  them  of  amicable  relations.  As- 
suredly, up  to  that  hour,  Mick  the  Wolf's  man- 
ner admitted  of  no  doubt  on  the  point.  He  had 
been  intractable  as  the  animal  which  supplied 
his  oddly  appropriate  nickname. 

"It's  this  way,"  he  went  one  in  a  lower  tone. 


"HE  WHO  FIGHTS  AND  RUNS"   265 

" Voles  an'  Meiklejohn  are  brothers  born. 
Meiklejohn,  bein'  a  Senator,  an'  well  in  with 
some  of  the  top-notchers,  has  a  cotton  conces- 
sion in  Costa  Rica  which  means  a  pile  of  money. 
Voles  is  cute  as  a  pet  fox.  He  winded  the 
turkey,  an'  has  forced  his  brother  to  make  him 
manager,  with  a  whackin'  salary  and  an  inter- 
est. I'm  in  on  the  deal,  too.  Bless  your  little 
heart,  you  just  stan'  pat,  an'  you  kin  make  a 
dress  outer  dollar  bills." 

"But  what  have  I  to  do  with  all  this?  Why 
cannot  you  settle  your  business  without  pursu- 
ing me?"  was  the  mournful  question,  for  Wini- 
fred never  guessed  how  greatly  the  man's  in- 
formation affected  her. 

"I  can't  rightly  say,  but  you're  either  with 
us  or  ag'in'  us.  If  you're  on  our  side  it'll  be 
a  joy-ride.  If  you  stick  to  that  guy,  Car- 
shaw — " 

To  their  ears,  as  to  the  ears  of  those  waiting 
in  the  car  at  the  gate,  came  the  sound  of  violent 
blows  and  the  wrenching  open  of  ihe  door.  In 
that  large  house — in  a  room  situated,  too,  on 
the  side  removed  from  the  road — they  could  not 
catch  Carshaw's  exulting  cry  after  a  peep 
through  the  window: 

"I  have  them!  Voles  and  Fowle!  There  they 
are !  Now  you,  who  fought  with  Funston,  fight 
for  a  year's  pay  to  be  earned  in  a  minute. 
Here!  use  this  wrench.  You  understand  it. 


266       TEE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

Use  it  on  the  head  of  any  one  who  resists 
you.  These  scoundrels  must  be  taken  red- 
handed." 

Voles  at  the  first  alarm  sprang  to  his  feet 
and  whipped  out  a  revolver.  He  knew  that  a 
vigorous  assault  was  being  made  on  the  stout 
door.  Running  to  the  blind  of  the  nearest  win- 
dow, he  saw  Carshaw  pull  out  an  iron  bar  by 
sheer  strength  and  use  it  as  a  lever  to  pry  open 
a  sash.  Tempted  though  he  was  to  shoot,  he 
dared  not.  There  might  be  police  outside. 
Murder  would  shatter  his  dreams  of  wealth 
and  luxury.  He  must  outwit  his  pursuers. 

Rachel  Craik  came  running  from  the  kitchen, 
alarmed  by  the  sudden  hubbub. 

"Fowle,"  he  said  to  his  amazed  confederate, 
"stand  them  off  for  a  minute  or  two.  You, 
Rachel,  can  help.  You  know  where  to  find  me 
when  the  coast  is  clear.  They  cannot  touch  you. 
Remember  that.  They're  breaking  into  this 
house  without  a  warrant.  Bluff  hard,  and  they 
cannot  even  frame  a  charge  against  you  if  the 
girl  is  secured — and  she  will  be  if  you  give  me 
time. ' ' 

Trusting  more  to  Rachel  than  to  vacillating 
Fowle,  he  raced  up-stairs,  though  his  injured 
leg  made  rapid  progress  difficult.  He  ran  into 
a  room  and  grabbed  a  small  bag  which  lay  in 
readiness.  Then  he  rushed  toward  the  room  in 
which  Winifred  and  Mick  the  Wolf  were  listen- 


"HE  WHO  FIGHTS  AND  RUNS"   267 

ing  with  mixed  feelings  to  the  row  which  had 
sprung  up  beneath. 

He  tried  the  door.  It  was  locked.  Rachel 
had  the  key  in  her  pocket.  A  trifle  of  that 
nature  did  not  deter  a  man  like  Voles.  "With 
his  shoulder  he  burst  the  lock,  coming  face  to 
face  with  his  partner  in  crime,  who  had  grasped 
a  poker  in  his  serviceable  hand. 

"Atta-boy!"  he  yelled.  "Down-stairs,  and 
floor  'em  as  they  come.  You've  one  sound  arm. 
Go  for  'em — they  can't  lay  a  finger  on  you." 

Now,  it  was  one  thing  to  sympathize  with  a 
helpless  and  gentle  girl,  but  another  to  resist 
the  call  of  the  wild.  The  dominant  note  in 
Mick  the  Wolf  was  brutality,  and  the  fighting 
instinct  conquered  even  his  pain.  With  an  oath 
he  made  his  way  to  the  hall,  and  it  needed  all 
of  Steingall's  great  strength  to  overpower  him, 
wounded  though  he  was. 

It  took  Carshaw  and  Jim  a  couple  of  minutes 
to  force  their  way  in.  There  was  a  lively  fight, 
in  which  the  detective  lent  a  hand.  When  Mick 
the  Wolf  was  down,  groaning  and  cursing  be- 
cause his  fractured  arm  was  broken  again ;  when 
Fowle  was  held  to  the  floor,  with  Rachel  Craik, 
struggling  and  screaming,  pinned  beneath  him 
by  the  valiant  Jim,  Carshaw  sped  to  the  first 
floor. 

Soon,  after  using  hand-cuffs  on  the  man  and 
woman,  and  leaving  Jim  in  charge  of  them  and 


Mick  the  Wolf,  Steingall  joined  him.  But, 
search  as  they  might,  they  could  not  find  either 
Winifred  or  Voles.  Almost  beside  himself  with 
rage,  Carshaw  rushed  back  to  the  grim-visaged 
Kachel. 

1  'Where  is  she?"  he  cried.  "What  have  you 
done  with  her?  By  Heaven,  I'll  kill  you— 

Her  face  lit  up  with  a  malignant  joy.  "A 
nice  thing!"  she  screamed.  "Respectable  folk 
to  be  treated  in  this  way !  What  have  we  done, 
I'd  like  to  know?  Breaking  into  our  house  and 
assaulting  us!" 

"No  good  talking  to  her,"  said  the  chief. 
"She's  a  deep  one — tough  as  they  make  'em. 
Let's  search  the  grounds." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

IK  FULL  CRY 

POLLY,  the  maid  from  the  inn,  waiting  breath- 
lessly intent  in  the  car  outside  the  gate,  listened 
for  sounds  which  should  guide  her  as  to  the 
progress  of  events  within. 

Steingall  left  her  standing  on  the  uphol- 
stered back  of  the  car,  with  her  hands  clutching 
the  top  of  the  gate.  She  did  not  descend  im- 
mediately. In  that  position  she  could  best  hear 
approaching  footsteps,  as  she  could  follow  the 
running  of  the  detective  nearly  all  the  way  to 
the  house. 

Great  was  her  surprise,  therefore,  to  find  some 
one  unlocking  the  gate  without  receiving  any 
preliminary  warning  of  his  advent.  She  was 
just  in  time  to  spring  back  into  the  tonneau 
when  one-half  of  the  ponderous  door  swung 
open  and  a  man  appeared,  carrying  in  his  arms 
the  seemingly  lifeless  body  of  a  woman. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  the  lamps  of  the 
car  spread  their  beams  in  the  opposite  direction. 
In  the  gloom,  not  only  of  the  night  but  of  the 
high  wall  and  the  trees,  Polly  could  not  distin- 
guish features. 


270        THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

She  thought,  however,  the  man  was  a  stran- 
ger. Naturally,  as  the  rescuers  had  just  gone 
toward  the  point  whence  the  newcomer  came, 
she  believed  that  he  had  been  directed  to  carry 
the  young  lady  to  the  waiting  car.  Her  quick 
sympathy  was  aroused. 

"The  poor  dear!"  she  cried.  "Oh,  don't  tell 
me  those  horrid  people  have  hurt  her." 

Voles  who  had  choked  "Winifred  into  insen- 
sibility with  a  mixture  of  alcohol,  chloroform, 
and  ether — a  scientific  anesthetic  used  by  all 
surgeons,  rapid  in  achieving  its  purpose  and 
quite  harmless  in  its  effects — was  far  more  sur- 
prised than  Polly.  He  never  expected  to  be 
greeted  in  this  way,  but  rather  to  be  met  by 
some  helper  of  Carshaw's  posed  there,  and  he 
was  prepared  to  fight  or  trick  his  adversary  as 
occasion  demanded. 

He  had  carried  Winifred  down  a  servants' 
stairs  and  made  his  way  out  of  the  house  by  a 
back  door.  The  exit  was  unguarded.  In  this, 
as  in  many  other  country  mansions,  the  drive 
followed  a  circuitous  sweep,  but  a  path  through 
the  trees  led  directly  toward  the  gate.  Hence, 
his  passage  had  neither  been  observed  from 
the  hall  nor  overheard  by  Polly. 

It  was  in  precisely  such  a  situation  as  that 
which  faced  him  now  that  Voles  was  really 
superb.  He  was  an  adroit  man,  with  ready 
judgment  and  nerves  of  steel. 


IN  FULL  CRY  271 

"Not  much  hurt,"  he  said  quietly.  "She  has 
fainted  from  shock,  I  think." 

Though  he  spoke  so  glibly,  his  brain  was  on 
fire  with  question  and  answer.  His  eyes  glow- 
ered at  the  car  and  its  occupant,  and  swept  the 
open  road  on  either  hand. 

To  Polly's  nostrils  was  wafted  a  strange 
odor,  carrying  reminiscences  of  so-called 
"painless"  dentistry.  Winifred,  reviving  in 
the  open  air  when  that  hateful  sponge  was  re- 
moved from  mouth  and  nose,  struggled  spas- 
modically in  the  arms  of  her  captor.  Polly 
knew  that  women  in  a  faint  lie  deathlike.  That 
never-to-be-forgotten  scent,  too,  caused  a  wave 
of  alarm,  of  suspicion,  to  creep  through  her 
with  each  heart-beat. 

"Where  are  the  others?"  she  said,  leaning 
over,  and  striving  to  see  Voles 's  face. 

"Just  behind,"  he  answered.  "Let  me  place 
Miss  Bartlett  in  the  car." 

That  sounded  reasonable. 

"Lift  her  in  here,  poor  thing,"  said  Polly, 
making  way  for  the  almost  inanimate  form. 

"No;  on  the  front  seat." 

"But  why?  This  is  the  best  place — oh,  help, 
-help!" 

For  Voles,  having*  placed  Winifred  beside  the 
steering-pillar,  seized  Polly  and  flung  her  head- 
long onto  the  grass  beneath  the  wall.  In  the 
same  instant  he  started  the  car  with  a  quick 


272       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

turn  of  the  wrist,  for  the  engine  had  been 
stopped  to  avoid  noise,  and  there  was  no  time 
to  experiment  with  self-starters.  He  jumped  in, 
released  the  brakes,  applied  the  first  speed, 
and  was  away  in  the  direction  to  New  York. 
Polly,  angry  and  frightened,  ran  after  him, 
screaming  at  the  top  of  her  voice. 

Voles  was  in  such  a  desperate  hurry  that  he 
did  not  pay  heed  to  his  steering,  and  nearly 
ran  over  a  motor-cyclist  coming  in  hot  haste 
to  East  Orange.  The  rider,  a  young  man, 
pulled  up  and  used  language.  He  heard 
Polly,  panting  and  shrieking,  running  toward 
him. 

"Good  gracious,  Miss  Barnard,  what's  the 
matter?"  he  cried,  for  Polly  was  pretty  enough 
to  hold  many  an  eye. 

"Is  that  you,  Mr.  Petch?  Thank  goodness! 
There's  been  murder  done  in  Gateway  House. 
That  villain  is  carrying  off  the  young  lady  he 
has  killed.  He  has  escaped  from  the  police. 
They're  in  there  now.  Oh,  catch  him!" 

Mr.  Petch,  who  had  dismounted,  began  to 
hop  back  New  York-ward,  while  the  engine  em- 
ulated a  machine-gun. 

"It's  a  big  car — goes  fast — I'll  do  my  best- 
Polly  heard  him  say,  and  he,  too,  was  gone. 
She  met  Carshaw  and  the  chief  half-way  up 
the  drive.     To  them,  in  gasps,  she  told  her 
story. 


IN  FULL  CRY  273 

"Cool  hand,  Voles!"  said  SteingaU. 

"The  whole  thing  was  bungled!"  cried  Car- 
shaw  in  a  white  heat.  "If  Clancy  had  been 
here  this  couldn't  have  happened." 

Steingall  took  the  implied  taunt  coolly. 

"It  would  have  been  better  had  I  followed 
my  original  plan  and  not  helped  you,"  he  said. 
"You  or  our  East  Orange  friend  might  have 
been  killed,  it  is  true,  but  Voles  could  not  have 
carried  the  girl  off  so  easily." 

Carshaw  promptly  regretted  his  bitter  com- 
ment.. "I'm  sorry,"  he  said,  "but  you  cannot 
realize  what  all  this  means  to  me,  Stein- 
gall." 

"I  think  I  can.  Cheer  up;  your  car  is  easily 
recognizable.  We  have  a  cyclist  known  to  this 
young  lady  in  close  pursuit.  Even  if  he  fails  to 
catch  up  with  Voles,  he  will  at  least  give  us 
some  definite  direction  for  a  search.  At  pres- 
ent there  is  nothing  for  us  to  do  but  lodge  these 
people  in  the  local  prison,  telephone  the  ferries 
and  main  towns,  and  go  back  to  New  York. 
The  police  here  will  let  us  know  what  happens 
to  the  cyclist;  he  may  even  call  at  the  Bureau. 
I  can  act  best  in  New  York." 

"Do  you  mean  now  to  arrest  those  in  the 
house?" 

"Yes,  sure.  That  is,  I'll  get  the  New  Jersey 
police  to  hold  them." 

4  *  On  what  charge  1 '  ' 


274       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

"Conspiracy.  At  last  we  have  clear  evidence 
against  them.  Miss  Polly  here  has  actually 
seen  Voles  carrying  off  Miss  Bartlett,  who  had 
previously  been  rendered  insensible.  If  I  am 
not  mistaken  in  my  man,  Fowle  will  turn  State's 
evidence  when  he  chews  on  the  proposition  for 
a  few  hours  in  a  cell." 

"Pah — the  wretch!  I  don't  want  these  rep- 
tiles to  be  crushed;  what  I  want  is  to  recover 
Miss  Bartlett.  Would  it  not  be  best  to  leave 
them  their  liberty  and  watch  them?" 

"I've  always  found  a  seven  days'  remand 
very  helpful,"  mused  the  detective. 

"In  ordinary  crime,  yes.  But  here  we  have 
Rachel  Craik,  who  would  suffer  martyrdom 
rather  than  speak;  Fowle,  a  mere  tool,  who 
knows  nothing  except  what  little  he  is  told; 
and  a  thick-headed  brute  named  Mick  the  Wolf, 
who  does  what  his  master  bids  him.  Don't  you 
see  that  in  prison  they  are  useless.  At  liberty 
they  may  help  by  trying  to  communicate  with 
Voles." 

"I'm  half  inclined  to  agree  with  you.  Now 
to  frighten  them.  Keep  your  face  and  tongue 
under  control;  I'll  try  a  dodge  that  seldom 
fails." 

They  re-entered  the  house.  Jim  was  doing 
sentry-go  in  the  hall.  The  prisoners  were  sit- 
ting mute,  save  that  Mick  the  Wolf  uttered  an 


IN  FULL  CRY  275 

occasional  growl  of  pain ;  his  wounded  arm  was 
hurting  him  sorely. 

''We're  not  going  to  worry  any  more  about 
you,"  said  Steingall  contemptuously  as  he  un- 
locked the  hand-cuffs  with  which  he  had  been 
compelled  to  secure  Rachel  and  Fowle. 

"Yes,  you  will,"  was  the  woman's  defiant 
cry.  "Your  outrageous  conduct — " 

"Oh,  pull  that  stuff  on  some  one  likely  to  be 
impressed  by  it.  It  comes  a  trifle  late  in  the 
day  when  Miss  Winifred  Marchbanks  is  in  the 
hands  of  her  friends  and  Voles  on  his  way  to 
prison.  I  don't  even  want  you,  Eachel  Bart- 
lett,  unless  the  State  attorney  decides  that  you 
ought  to  be  prosecuted." 

The  woman's  eyes  gleamed  like  those  of  a 
spiteful  cat.  The  detective's  cool  use  of  Wini- 
fred's right  name,  and  of  the  name  by  which 
Rachel  Craik  herself  ought  to  be  known,  was 
positively  demoralizing.  Fowle,  too,  was 
greatly  alarmed.  The  police-officer  said  noth- 
ing about  not  wanting  him.  With  Voles 's  su- 
perior will  withdrawn,  he  began  to  quake 
again.  But  Rachel  was  a  dour  New  Englander, 
of  different  metal  to  a  man  from  the  East 
Side. 

"If  you're  speaking  of  my  niece,"  she  said, 
"you  have  been  misled  by  the  hussy,  and  by 
that  man  of  hers  there.  Mr.  Voles  is  her  father. 


276       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

I  have  every  proof  of  my  words.  You  can  bring 
none  of  yours." 

Steingall,  eying  Fowle,  laughed.  "You  will 
be  able  to  tell  us  all  about  it  in  the  witness- 
box,  Rachel  Bartlett,"  he  said. 

"How  dare  you  call  me  by  that  name?" 

"Because  it's  your  right  one.  Craik  was 
your  mother's  name.  If  friend  Voles  had  only 
kept  his  hands  clean,  or  even  treated  you  honor- 
ably, you  might  now  be  Mrs.  Ralph  Meiklejohn, 
eh?" 

He  was  playing  with  her  with  the  affable 
gambols  of  a  cat  toying  with  a  doomed  mouse. 
Each  instant  Fowle  was  becoming  more  per- 
turbed. He  did  not  like  the  way  in  which  the 
detective  ignored  him.  Was  he  to  be  swallowed 
at  a  gulp  when  his  turn  came? 

Even  Rachel  Craik  was  silenced  by  this  last 
shot.  She  wrung  her  hands;  this  stern,  im- 
placable woman  seemed  to  be  on  the  point  of 
bursting  into  tears.  All  the  plotting  and  de- 
vices of  years  had  failed  her  suddenly.  An 
edifice  of  deception,  which  had  lasted  half  a 
generation,  had  crumbled  into  nothingness. 
This  man  had  callously  exposed  her  secret  and 
her  shame.  At  that  moment  her  heart  was 
bitter  against  Voles. 

The  detective,  skilled  in  the  phases  of  crim- 
inal thought,  knew  exactly  what  was  passing 
through  the  minds  of  both  Rachel  and  Fowle. 


IN  FULL  GEY  277 

Revenge  in  the  one  case,  safety  in  the  other, 
was  operating  quickly,  and  a  crisis  was  at 
hand. 

But  just  then  the  angry  voice  of  the  East 
Orange  plumber  reached  him:  "Just  imagine 
Fetch  turnin'  up;  him,  of  all  men  in  the  world! 
An'  of  course  you  talked  nicey-nicey,  an'  he's 
such  an  obligin'  feller  that  he  beats  it  after  the 
car!  Fetch,  indeed!" 

There  was  a  snort  of  jealous  fury.  Polly's 
voice  was  raised  in  protest. 

"Jim,  don't  be  stupid.  How  could  I  tell  who 
it  was?" 

"I'll  back  you  against  any  girl  in  East 
Orange  to  find  another  string  to  your  bow 
wherever  you  may  happen  to  be,"  was  the  en- 
raged retort. 

The  detective  hastened  to  stop  this  lovers' 
quarrel,  which  had  broken  out  after  a  whispered 
colloquy.  He  was  too  late.  Miss  Polly  was  on 
her  dignity. 

"Well,  Mr.  Fetch  is  a  real  man,  anyhow," 
came  her  stinging  answer.  "He's  after  them 
now,  and  he  won't  let  them  slip  through  his 
fingers  like  you  did." 

The  sheer  injustice  of  this  statement  ren- 
dered Jim  incoherent.  Fetch  was  an  old  rival. 
When  next  they  met,  gore  would  flow  in  East 
Orange.  But  the  detective's  angry  whisper  re- 
stored the  senses  of  both. 


278       TEE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

"Can't  you  two  shut  up?"  he  hissed.  "  Your 
miserable  quarrel  has  warned  our  prisoners. 
They  were  on  the  very  point  of  <confe<ssing 
everything  when  you  blurted  out  that  the  chief 
rascal  had  escaped.  I'm  ashamed  of  you,  es- 
pecially after  you  had  behaved  so  well." 

His  rebuke  was  merited;  they  were  abashed 
into  silence — too  late.  When  he  returned  to 
the  pair  in  the  corner  of  the  room  he  saw  Ra- 
chel Craik's  sour  smile  and  Fowle's  downcast 
look  of  calculation. 

"A  lost  opportunity!"  he  muttered,  but  faced 
the  situation  quite  pleasantly. 

"You  may  as  well  remain  here,"  he  said. 
"I  may  want  you,  and  you  should  realize  with- 
out giving  further  trouble  that  you  cannot  hide 
from  the  police.  Come,  Mr.  Carshaw,  we  have 
work  before  us  in  East  Orange.  Miss  Wini- 
fred should  be  all  right  by  this  time." 

Rachel  Craik  actually  laughed.  She  won- 
dered why  she  had  lost  faith  in  Voles  for  an  in- 
stant. 

"I'll  send  a  doctor,"  went  on  Steingall  com- 
posedly. "Your  friend  there  needs  one,  I 
guess." 

"I'd  sooner  have  a  six-shooter,"  roared  Mick 
the  Wolf. 

"Doctors  are  even  more  deadly  sometimes." 

So  the  detective  took  his  defeat  cheerfully, 
and  that  is  the  worst  thing  a  man  ban  do — in 


IN  FULL  CRY  279 

his  opponent's  interests.  He  was  rather  silent 
as  he  trudged  with  Carshaw  and  the  others 
back  to  the  train,  however. 

He  was  asking  himself  what  new  gibe  Clancy 
would  spring  on  him  when  the  story  of  the 
night's  fiasco  came  out. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

FLANK   ATTACKS 

SOMEWHAT  tired,  having  ridden  that  day  to 
Poughkeepsie  and  back,  Petch,  nevertheless, 
put  up  a  great  race  after  the  fleeing  motor-car. 

His  muscles  were  rejuvenated  by  Polly  Barn- 
ard's exciting  news  and  no  less  by  admiration 
for  the  girl  herself.  Little  thinking  that  Jim, 
the  plumber,  was  performing  deeds  of  derring- 
do  in  the  hall  of  Gateway  House,  he  congratu- 
lated himself  on  the  lucky  chance  which  enabled 
him  to  oblige  the  fair  Polly.  He  dashed  into  the 
road  to  Hoboken,  and  found,  to  his  joy,  that 
the  dust  raised  by  the  passage  of  the  car  gave 
an  unfailing  clue  to  its  route.  Now,  a  well- 
regulated  motor-cycle  can  run  rings  round  any 
other  form  of  automobile,  no  matter  how  many 
horses  may  be  pent  in  the  cylinders,  if  on  an 
ordinary  road  and  subjected  to  the  exigencies 
of  traffic. 

Voles,  break-neck  driver  though  he  was,  dared 
not  disregard  the  traffic  regulations  and  risk 
a  smash-up.  He  got  the  best  out  of  the  engine, 
but  was  compelled  to  go  steadily  through  clus- 
ters of  houses  and  around  tree-shaded  corners. 

380 


FLANK  ATTACKS  281 

To  his  great  amazement,  as  he  was  tearing 
through  the  last  habitations  before  crossing  the 
New  Jersey  flats,  he  was  hailed  loudly  from 
behind : 

"Hi,  you— pull  up!" 

He  glanced  over  his  shoulder.  A  motor-cyc- 
list, white  with  dust,  was  riding  after  him  with 
tremendous  energy. 

"Hola!"  cried  Voles,  snatching  another  look. 
"What's  the  matter?" 

Fetch  should  have  temporized,  done  one  of 
a  hundred  things  he  thought  of  too  late ;  but  he 
was  so  breathless  after  the  terrific  sprint  in 
which  he  overtook  Voles  that  he  blurted 
out: 

"I  know  you — you  can't  escape — there's  the 
girl  herself — I  see  her!" 

"Hell!" 

Voles  urged  on  the  car  by  foot  and  finger. 
After  him  pelted  Fetch,  with  set  teeth  and 
straining  eyes.  The  magnificent  car,  superb  in 
its  energies,  swept  through  the  night  like  the 
fiery  dragon  of  song  and  fable,  but  with  a  speed 
never  attained  by  dragon  yet,  else  there  would 
be  room  on  earth  for  nothing  save  dragons. 
And  the  motor-cycle  leaped  and  bounded  close 
behind,  stuttering  its  resolve  to  conquer  the 
monster  in  front. 

The  pair  created  a  great  commotion  as  they 
whirred  past  scattered  houses  and  emerged 


282        THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

into  the  keen,  cold  air  of  the  marshland.  A 
few  cars  met  en  route  actually  slowed  up,  and 
heads  were  thrust  out  to  peer  in  wonder.  "Wo- 
men in  them  were  scared,  and  enjoined  drivers 
to  be  careful,  while  men  explained  laughingly 
that  a  couple  of  joy-riders  were  being  chased 
by  a  motor  "cop." 

It  was  neck  or  nothing  now  for  Voles,  and 
when  these  alternatives  offered,  he  never  hesi- 
tated as  to  which  should  be  chosen.  He  knew 
he  was  in  desperate  case. 

The  pace ;  the  extraordinary  appearance  of  a 
hatless  man  and  a  girl  with  her  hair  streaming 
wild — for  Winifred's  abundant  tresses  had  soon 
shed  all  restraint  of  pins  and  twists  before  the 
tearing  wind  of  their  transit — would  create  a 
tumult  in  Hoboken.  Something  must  be  done. 
He  must  stop  the  car  and  shoot  that  pestifer- 
ous cyclist,  who  had  sprung  out  of  the  ground 
as  though  one  of  Medusa's  teeth  had  lain  buried 
there  throughout  the  ages,  and  become  a  pano- 
plied warrior  at  a  woman's  cry. 

He  looked  ahead.  There  was  no  car  in  sight. 
He  peered  over  his  shoulder.  There  was  no 
cyclist !  Fetch  had  not  counted  on  this  frenzied 
race,  and  his  petrol-tank  was  empty.  He  had 
pulled  up  disconsolately  half  a  mile  away,  and 
was  now  borrowing  a  gallon  of  gas  from  an 
Orange-bound  car,  explaining  excitedly  that  he 
was  "after"  a  murderer! 


FLANK  ATTACKS  283 

Voles  laughed.  The  fiend's  luck,  which  sel- 
dom fails  the  fiend's  votaries,  had  come  to  his 
aid  in  a  highly  critical  moment.  There  re- 
mained Winifred.  She,  too,  must  be  dealt  with. 
Now,  all  who  have  experienced  the  effect  of  an 
anesthetic  will  understand  that  after  the  merely 
stupefying  power  of  the  gas  has  waned  there 
follows  a  long  period  of  semi-hysteria,  when 
actual  existence  is  dreamlike,  and  impressions 
of  events  are  evanescent.  Winifred,  therefore, 
hardly  appreciated  what  was  taking  place  until 
the  car-  stopped  abruptly,  and  the  stupor  of 
cold  passed  almost  simultaneously  with  the 
stupor  of  anesthesia. 

But  Voles  had  his  larger  plan  now.  With 
coolness  and  daring  he  might  achieve  it.  All 
depended  on  the  discretion  of  those  left  be- 
hind in  Gateway  House.  It  was  impossible  to 
keep  Winifred  always  in  durance,  or  to  prevent 
her  everlastingly  from  obtaining  help.  That 
fool  of  a  cyclist,  for  instance,  had  he  contented 
himself  with  riding  quietly  behind  until  he 
reached  the  ferry,  would  have  wrecked  the  ex- 
ploit beyond  repair. 

There  remained  one  last  move,  but  it  was  a 
perfect  one  in  most  ways.  Would  Fowle  keep 
his  mouth  shut?  Voles  cursed  Fowle  in  his 
thought.  Were  it  not  for  Fowle  there  would 
have  been  no  difficulty.  Carshaw  would  never 
have  met  Winifred,  and  the  girl  would  have 


284       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

been  as  wax  in  the  hands  of  Rachel  Craik.  Ho 
caught  hold  of  Winifred's  arm. 

"If  you  scream  I'll  choke  you!"  he  said 
fiercely. 

Shaken  by  the  chloroform  mixture,  benumbed 
as  the  outcome  of  an  unprotected  drive,  the 
girl  was  physically  as  well  as  mentally  unable 
to  resist.  He  coiled  her  hair  into  a  knot,  gag- 
ged her  dexterously  with  a  silk  handkerchief 
— Voles  knew  all  about  gags — and  tied  her 
hands  behind  her  back  with  a  shoe-lace.  Then 
he  adjusted  the  hood  and  side-screens. 

He  did  these  things  hurriedly,  but  without 
fumbling.  He  was  losing  precious  minutes,  for 
the  telephone-wire  might  yet  throttle  him;  but 
the  periods  of  waiting  at  the  ferry  and  while 
crossing  the  Hudson  must  be  circumvented  in 
some  way  or  other.  His  last  act  before  start- 
ing the  car  was  to  show  Winifred  the  revolver 
he  never  lacked. 

"See  this!"  he  growled  into  her  ear.  "I'm 
not  going  to  be  held  by  any  cop.  At  the  least 
sign  of  a  move  by  you  to  attract  attention  I'll 
put  the  first  bullet  through  the  cop,  the  second 
through  you,  and  the  third  through  myself,  if 
I  can't  make  my  get-away.  Better  believe  that. 
I  mean  it." 

He  asked  for  no  token  of  understanding  on 
her  part.  He  was  stating  only  the  plain  facts. 
In  a  word,  Voles  was  born  to  be  a  great  man, 


FLANK  ATTACKS  285 

and  an  unhappy  fate  had  made  him  a  scoundrel. 
But  fortune  still  befriended  him.  Rain  fell  as 
he  drove  through  Hoboken.  The  ferry  was  al- 
most deserted,  and  the  car  was  wedged  in  be-, 
tween  two  huge  mail-vans  on  board  the  boat. 

Hardened  rascal  though  he  was,  Voles 
breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  as  he  drove  unchal- 
lenged past  a  uniformed  policeman  on  arriving 
at  Christopher  Street.  He  guessed  his  escape 
was  only  a  matter  of  minutes.  In  reality,  he 
was  gone  some  ten  seconds  when  the  policeman 
was  called  to  the  phone.  As  for  Fetch,  that 
valorous  knight-errant  crossed  on  the  next  boat, 
and  the  Hoboken  police  were  already  on  the  qui 
vive. 

Every  road  into  and  out  of  New  York  was' 
soon  watched  by  sharp  eyes  on  the  lookout  for 
a  car  bearing  a  license  numbered  in  the  tens  of 
thousands,  and  tenanted  by  a  hatless  man  and 
a  girl  in  indoor  costume.  Quickly  the  circles 
lessened  in  concentric  rings  through  the  agen- 
cies of  telephone-boxes  and  roundsmen. 

At  half  past  nine  a  patrolman  found  a  car 
answering  the  description  standing  outside  an 
up-town  saloon  on  the  East  Side.  Examining 
the  register  number  he  saw  at  once  that  black- 
ing had  been  smeared  over  the  first  and  last 
figures.  Then  he  knew.  But  there  was  no  trace 
of  the  driver.  Voles  and  Winifred  had  van- 
ished into  thin  air. 


286       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

Mrs  Carshaw,  breakfasting  with  a  haggard 
and  weary  son,  revealed  that  Senator  Meikle- 
john  was  at  Atlantic  City.  He  kissed  her  for 
the  news. 

"Meiklejohn  must  wait,  mother,"  he  said. 
"Winifred  is  somewhere  in  New  York.  I  can- 
not tear  myself  away  to  Atlantic  City  to-day. 
When  I  have  found  her,  I  shall  deal  with  Meik- 
lejohn." 

Then  came  Steingall,  and  he  and  Mrs.  Car- 
shaw exchanged  a  glance  which  the  younger 
man  missed. 

Mrs.  Carshaw,  sitting  a  while  in  deep  thought 
after  the  others  had  gone,  rang  up  a  railway 
company.  Atlantic  City  is  four  hours  distant 
from  New  York.  By  hurrying  over  certain  in- 
quiries she  wished  to  make,  she  might  catch  a 
train  at  midday. 

She  drove  to  her  lawyers.  At  her  request  a 
smart  clerk  was  lent  to  her  for  a  couple  of 
hours.  They  consulted  various  records.  The 
clerk  made  many  notes  on  foolscap  sheets  in  a 
large,  round  hand,  and  Mrs.  Carshaw,  seated  in 
the  train,  read  them  many  times  through  her 
gold-mounted  lorgnette. 

It  was  five  o'clock  when  a  taxi  brought  her  to 
the  Marlborough-Blenheim  Hotel,  and  Senator 
Meiklejohn  was  the  most  astonished  man  on  the 
Jersey  coast  at  the  moment  when  she  entered 
unannounced,  for  Mrs.  Carshaw  had  simply 


FLANK  ATTACKS  287 

said  to  the  elevator-boy:  ''Take  me  to  Sena- 
tor Meikle John's  sitting-room." 

Undeniably  he  was  startled;  but  playing  des- 
perately for  high  stakes  had  steadied  him 
somewhat.  Perhaps  the  example  of  his  stron- 
ger brother  had  some  value,  too,  for  he  rose 
with  sufficient  affability. 

"What  a  pleasant  rencontre,  Mrs.  Carshaw," 
he  said.  "I  had  no  notion  you  were  within  a 
hundred  miles  of  the  Board  Walk." 

"That  is  not  surprising,"  she  answered,  sink- 
ing into  a  comfortable  chair.  "I  have  just  ar- 
rived. Order  me  some  sandwiches  and  a  cup 
of  tea.  I'm  famished." 

He  obeyed. 

"I  take  it  you  have  come  to  see  me?"  he  said, 
quietly  enough,  though  aware  of  a  queer  flut- 
tering about  the  region  of  his  heart. 

"Yes.    I  am  so  worried  about  Rex." 

"Dear  me!    The  girl?" 

"It  is  always  a  woman.  How  you  men  must 
loathe  us  in  your  sane  moments,  if  you  ever 
have  any." 

"I  flatter  myself  that  I  am  sane,  yet  how 
could  I  say  that  I  loathe  your  sex,  Mrs.  Car- 
shaw?" 

"I  wonder  if  your  flattery  will  bear  analysis. 
But  there!  No  serious  talk  until  I  am  re- 
freshed. Do  ring  for  some  biscuits;  sand- 
wjches  are  apt  to  be  slow  in  the  cutting." 


288        THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

Thus  by  pretext  she  kept  him  from  direct 
converse  until  a  tea-tray,  with  a  film  of  pate 
de  fois  coyly  hidden  in  thin  bread  and  but- 
ter, formed,  as  it  were,  a  rampart  between 
them. 

"How  did  you  happen  on  my  address?"  he 
asked  smilingly. 

It  was  the  first  shell  of  real  warfare,  and  she 
answered  in  kind :  *  *  That  was  quite  easy.  The 
people  at  the  detective  bureau  know  it. ' ' 

The  words  hit  him  like  a  bullet. 

"The  Bureau!"  he  cried. 

"Yes.  The  officials  there  are  interested  in 
the  affairs  of  Winifred  Marchbanks." 

He  went  ashen-gray,  but  essayed,  neverthe- 
less, to  turn  emotion  into  mere  amazement. 
He  was  far  too  clever  a  man  to  pretend  a  blank 
negation.  The  situation  was  too  strenuous  for 
any  species  of  ostrich  device. 

"I  seem  to  remember  that  name,"  he  said 
slowly,  moistening  his  lips  with  his  tongue. 

"Of  course  you  do.  You  have  never  for- 
gotten it.  Let  us  have  a  friendly  chat  about 
her,  Senator.  My  son  is  going  to  marry  her. 
That  is- why  I  am  here." 

She  munched  her  sandwiches  and  sipped  her 
tea.  This  experienced  woman  of  the  world, 
now  boldly  declared  on  the  side  of  romance, 
was  far  too  astute  to  force  the  man  to  despera- 
tion unless  it  was  necessary.  He  must  be  given 


FLANK  ATTACKS  289 

breathing-time,  permitted  to  collect  his  wits. 
She  was  sure  of  her  ground.  Her  case  was  not 
legally  strong.  Meiklejohn  would  discover 
that  defect,  and,  indeed,  it  was  not  her  object 
to  act  legally.  If  others  could  plot  and  scheme, 
she  would  have  a  finger  in  the  pie — that  was  all. 
And  behind  her  was  the  clear  brain  of  Stein- 
gall,  who  had  camped  for  days  near  the  Sena- 
tor in  Atlantic  City,  and  had  advised  the  mother 
how  to  act  for  her  son. 

There  was  a  long  silence.    She  ate  steadily. 

"Perhaps  you  will  be  good  enough  to  state 
explicitly  why  you  are  here,.  Mrs.  Carshaw," 
said  Meiklejohn  at  last. 

She  caught  the  ring  of  defiance  in  his  tone. 
She  smiled.  There  was  to  be  verbal  sword- 
play,  and  she  was  armed  cap-d-pie. 

"Just  another  cup  of  tea,"  she  pleaded,  and 
he  wriggled  uneasily  in  his  chair.  The  delay 
was  torturing  him.  She  unrolled  her  big  sheets 
of  notes.  He  looked  over  at  them  with  well- 
simulated  indifference. 

"I  have  an  engagement — "  he  began,  looking 
at  his  watch. 

"You  must  put  it  off,"  she  said,  with  sudden 
heat.  "The  most  important  engagement  of 
your  life  is  here,  now,  in  this  room,  William 
Meiklejohn.  I  mentioned  the  detective  bureau 
when  I  entered.  Which  do  you  prefer  to  en- 
counter— me  or  an  emissary  of  the  police?" 


290       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

He  paled  again.  Evidently  this  society  lady 
had  claws,  and  would  use  them  if  annoyed. 

' 'I  do  not  think  that  I  have  said  anything 
to  warrant  such  language  to  me,"  he  mur- 
mured, striving  to  smile  deprecatingly.  He  suc- 
ceeded but  poorly. 

"You  sent  me  to  drive  out  into  the  world  the 
girl  whom  my  son  loved,"  was  the  retort. 
"You  made  a  grave  mistake  in  that.  I  recog- 
nized her,  after  a  little  while.  I  knew  her 
mother.  Now,  am  I  to  go  into  details'?" 

"I— really— I—" 

"Very  well.  Eighteen  years  ago  your 
brother,  Ealph  Vane  Meiklejohn,  murdered  a 
man  named  Marchbanks,  who  had  discovered 
that  you  and  your  brother  were  defrauding  his 
wife  of  funds  held  by  your  bank  as  her  trustees. 
I  have  here  the  records  of  the  crime.  I  do  not 
say  that  your  brother,  who  has  since  been  a 
convict  and  is  now  assisting  you  under  the  name 
of  Ralph  Voles,  could  be  charged  with  that 
crime.  Maybe  'murderer'  is  too  strong  a  word 
for  him  where  Marchbanks  was  concerned;  but 
I  do  say  that  any  clever  lawyer  could  send  you 
and  him  to  the  penitentiary  for  robbing  a 
dead  woman  and  her  daughter,  the  girl  whom 
you  and  he  have  kidnapped  within  the  last 
week. ' ' 

Here  was  a  broadside  with  a  vengeance. 
Meiklejohn  could  not  have  endured  a  keener 


FLANK  ATTACKS  291 

agony  were  he  facing  a  judge  and  jury.  It  was 
one  thing  to  have  borne  this  terrible  secret 
gnawing  at  his  vitals  during  long  years,  but  it 
was  another  to  find  it  pitilessly  laid  bare  by  a 
woman  belonging  to  that  very  society  for  which 
he  had  dared  so  much  in  order  to  retain  his 
footing. 

He  bent  his  head  between  his  hands.  For 
a  few  seconds  thoughts  of  another  crime  danced 
in  his  surcharged  brain.  But  Mrs.  Carshaw's 
well-bred  syllables  brought  him  back  to  sanity 
with  -chill  deliberateness. 

1 '  Shall  I  go  on ! "  she  said.  <  <  Shall  I  tell  you 
of  Eachel  Bartlett;  of  the  scandal  to  be  raised 
about  your  ears,  not  only  by  this  falsified  trust, 
but  by  the  outrageous  attack  on  Eonald 
Tower?" 

He  raised  his  pallid  face.  He  was  a  proud 
man,  and  resented  her  merciless  taunts. 

"Of  course,"  he  muttered,  "I  deny  every- 
thing you  have  said.  But,  if  it  were  true,  you 
must  have  some  ulterior  motive  in  approaching 
me.  What  is  it?" 

"I  am  glad  you  see  that.  I  am  here  to  offer 
terms. ' ' 

"Name  them." 

"You  must  place  this  girl,  Winifred  March- 
banks,  under  my  care — where  she  will  remain 
until  my  son  marries  her — and  make  restitu- 
tion of  her  mother's  property." 


292       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

"No  doubt  you  have  a  definite  sum  in  your 
mind?" 

"Most  certainly.  My  lawyers  tell  me  you 
ought  to  refund  the  interest  as  well,  but  Wini- 
fred may  content  herself  with  the  principal. 
You  must  hand  her  half  a  million  dollars ! ' ' 

He  sprang  to  his  feet,  livid,  "Woman," 
he  yelled,  "  you  are  crazy!" 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  BITEE  BIT 

MRS.  CARSHAW  focused  him  again  through 
her  gold-rimmed  eye-glasses.  " Crazy?"  she 
questioned  calmly.  "Not  a  bit  of  it — merely  an 
old  woman  bargaining  for  her  son.  Rex  would 
not  have  done  it.  After  thrashing  you  he 
would  have  left  you  to  the  law,  and,  were  the 
law  to  step  in,  you  would  surely  be  ruined.  I, 
on  the  other  hand,  do  not  scruple  to  compound 
a  felony — that  is  what  my  lawyers  call  it.  My 
extravagance  and  carelessness  have  contributed 
to  encumber  Rex's  estates  with  a  heavy  mort- 
gage. If  I  provide  his  wife  with  a  dowry  which 
pays  off  the  mortgage  and  leaves  her  a  nice  sum 
as  pin-money,  I  shall  have  done  well." 

"Half  a  million!  I — I  repudiate  your  state- 
ments. Even  if  I  did  not,  I  have  no  such  sum 
at  command." 

"Yes,  you  have,  or  will  have,  which  is  the 
same  thing.  Shall  I  give  you  details  of  the 
Costa  Rica  cotton  concession,  arranged  be- 
tween you,  and  Jacob,  and  Helen  Tower? 
They're  here.  As  for  repudiation,  perhaps  I 
have  hurried  matters.  Permit  me  to  go  through 

293 


294       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

my  story  at  some  length,  quoting  chapter  and 
verse." 

She  spread  open  her  papers  again,  after  hav- 
ing folded  them. 

1  'Stop  this  wretched  farce,"  he  almost 
screamed,  for  her  coolness  broke  up  his  never 
too  powerful  nervous  system.  "If — I  agree — 
what  guarantee  is  there — " 

"Ah!  now  you're  talking  reasonably.  I  can 
ensure  the  acceptance  of  my  terms.  First, 
where  is  Winifred?" 

He  hesitated.  Here  was  the  very  verge  of 
the  gulf.  Any  admission  implied  the  truth  of 
Mrs.  Carshaw's  words.  She  did  not  help  him. 
He  must  take  the  plunge  without  any  further 
impulsion.  But  the  Senator's  nerve  was  broken. 
They  both  knew  it. 

"At  Gateway  House,  East  Orange,"  he  said 
sullenly.  "I  must  tell  you  that  my — my 
brother  is  a  dare-devil.  Better  leave  me 
to " 

"I  am  glad  you  have  told  the  truth,"  she  in- 
terrupted. "She  is  not  at  Gateway  House  now. 
Eex  and  a  detective  were  there  last  night. 
There  was  a  fight.  Your  brother,  a  resource- 
ful scoundrel  evidently,  carried  her  off.  You 
must  find  him  and  her.  A  train  leaves  for  New 
York  in  half  an  hour.  Come  back  with  me  and 
help  look  for  her.  It  will  count  toward  your  re- 
generation." 


THE  BITER  BIT  295 

He  glanced  at  his  watch  abstractedly.  He 
even  smiled  in  a  sickly  way  as  he  said: 

"You  timed  your  visit  well." 

"Yes.  A  woman  has  intuition,  you  know. 
It  takes  the  place  of  brains.  I  shall  await  you 
in  the  hall.  Now,  don't  be  stupid,  and  think  of 
revolvers,  and  poisons,  and  things.  You  will 
end  by  blessing  me  for  my  interference.  Will 
you  be  ready  in  five  minutes'?" 

She  sat  in  the  lounge,  and  soon  saw  some  bag- 
gage descending.  Then  Meiklejohn  joined  her. 
She  went  to  the  office  and  asked  for  a  telegraph 
form.  The  Senator  had  followed. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  he  asked  sus- 
piciously. 

"I'm  wiring  Rex  to  say  that  you  and  I  are 
traveling  to  New  York  together,  and  advising 
him  to  suspend  operations  until  we  arrive. 
That  will  be  helpful.  You  will  not  be  tempted 
to  act  foolishly,  and  he  will  not  do  anything  to 
prejudice  your  future  actions." 

He  gave  her  a  wrathful  glance.  Mrs.  Car- 
shaw  missed  no  point.  A  man  driven  to  des- 
peration might  be  tempted  to  bring  about  an 
"accident"  if  he  fancied  he  could  save  himself 
in  that  way.  But,  clever  as  a  mother  scheming 
for  her  son's  welfare  proved  herself,  there  was 
one  thing  she  could  not  do.  Neither  she  nor 
any  other  human  being  can  prevent  the  un- 
expected from  happening  occasionally.  Sound 


296       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

judgment  and  astute  planning  will  often  gain 
a  repute  for  divination;  yet  the  prophet  is  de- 
cried at  times.  Steingall  had  discovered  this, 
and  Mrs.  Carshaw  experienced  it  now. 

It  chanced  that  Mick  the  Wolf,  lying  in  Gate- 
way House  on  a  bed  of  pain,  his  injuries  ag- 
gravated by  the  struggle  with  the  detective,  and 
his  temper  soured  by  Rachel  Craik's  ungracious 
ministrations,  found  his  thoughts  dwelling  on 
the  gentle  girl  who  had  forgotten  her  own  sor- 
rows and  tended  him,  her  enemy. 

Such  moments  come  to  every  man,  no  matter 
how  vile  he  may  be,  and  this  lorn  wolf  was  a 
social  castaway  from  whom,  during  many  years, 
all  decent-minded  people  had  averted  their 
faces.  His  slow-moving  mind  was  apt  to  be 
dominated  by  a  single  idea.  He  understood 
enough  of  the  Costa  Rican  project  to  grasp  the 
essential  fact  that  there  was  money  in  it  for  all 
concerned,  and  money  honestly  earned,  if 
honesty  be  measured  by  the  ethics  of  the  stock 
manipulator. 

He  realized,  too,  that  neither  Voles  nor 
Rachel  Craik  could  be  moved  by  argument,  and 
he  rightly  estimated  Fowle  as  a  weak-minded 
nonentity.  So  he  slowly  hammered  out  a  con- 
clusion, and,  having  appraised  it  in  his  narrow 
circle  of  thought,  determined  to  put  it  into 
effect. 

An  East  Orange  doctor,  who  had  received  his 


TEE  BITER  BIT  297 

instructions  from  the  police,  paid  a  second  visit 
to  Mick  the  Wolf  shortly  before  the  hour  of 
Mrs.  Carshaw's  arrival  in  Atlantic  City. 

"Well,  how  is  the  arm  feeling  now!"  he  said 
pleasantly,  when  he  entered  the  patient's  bed- 
room. 

The  answer  was  an  oath. 

"That  will  never  do,"  laughed  the  doctor. 
"Cheerfulness  is  the  most  important  factor  in 
healing.  Ill-temper  causes  jerky  movements 
and  careless — " 

"Oh,  shucks,"  came  the  growl.  "Say,  listen, 
boss!  I've  been  broke  up  twice  over  a  slip  of 
a  girl.  I've  had  enough  of  it.  The  whole  darn 
thing  is  a  mistake.  I  want  to  end  it,  an'  I  don't 
give  a  hoorah  in  Hades  who  knows.  Just  tell 
her  friends  that  if  they  look  for  her  on  board 
the  steamer  Wild  Duck,  loadin'  at  Smith's  Pier 
in  the  East  River,  they'll  either  find  her  or 
strike  her  trail.  That's  all.  Now  fix  these 
bandages,  for  my  arm's  on  fire." 

The  doctor  wisely  put  no  further  questions. 
He  dressed  the  wounded  limb  and  took  his  de- 
parture. A  policeman  in  plain  clothes,  hiding 
in  a  neighboring  barn,  saw  him  depart  and 
hailed  him:  "Any  news,  Doc?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply.  "If  my  information 
is  correct  you'll  not  be  kept  there  much  longer." 

He  motored  quickly  to  the  police-station. 
Within  the  hour  Carshaw,  with  frowning  face 


298       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

and  dreams  of  wreaking  physical  vengeance  on 
the  burly  frame  of  Voles,  was  speeding  across 
New  York  with  Steingall  in  his  recovered  car. 
He  simply  hungered  for  a  personal  combat  with 
the  man  who  had  inflicted  such  sufferings  on  his 
beloved  Winifred. 

The  story  told  by  Polly  Barnard,  and  sup- 
plemented by  Fetch,  revealed  very  clearly  the 
dastardly  trick  practised  by  Voles  the  previ- 
ous evening,  while  the  dodge  of  smearing  out 
two  of  the  figures  on  the  automobile's  license 
plate  explained  the  success  attained  in  travers- 
ing the  streets  unnoticed  by  the  police. 

Steingall  was  inclined  to  theorize. 

' '  The  finding  of  the  car  puzzled  me  at  first,  I 
admit,"  he  said.  "Now,  assuming  that  Mick 
the  Wolf  has  not  sent  us  off  on  a  wild-goose 
chase,  the  locality  of  the  steamer  explains  it. 
Voles  drove  all  the  way  to  the  East  Side,  quit- 
ted the  car  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  pier, 
deposited  Miss  Bartlett  on  board  the  vessel 
under  some  plausible  pretext,  and  actually 
risked  the  return  journey  into  the  only  part 
of  New  York  where  the  missing  auto  might  not 
be  noticed  at  once.  He's  a  bold  rogue,  and  no 
mistake. ' ' 

But  Carshaw  answered  not.  The  chief 
glanced  at  him  sideways,  and  smiled.  There 
was  a  lowering  fire  in  his  companion's  eyes  that 
told  its  own  story.  Thenceforward,  the  run 


THE  BITER  BIT  299 

was  taken  in  silence.  But  Steingall  had  decided 
on  his  next  move.  When  they  neared  Smith's 
Pier  Carshaw  wished  to  drive  straight  there. 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,"  was  the  sharp  official 
command.  "We  have  failed  once.  Perhaps 
it  was  my  fault.  This  time  there  shall  be  no 
mistakes.  Turn  along  the  next  street  to  the 
right.  The  precinct  station  is  three  blocks 
down." 

Somewhat  surprised  by  Steingall 's  tone, 
the  other  obeyed.  At  the  station-house  a  police- 
man, called  from  the  men's  quarters,  where  he 
was  quietly  reading  and  smoking,  stated  that 
he  was  on  duty  in  the  neighborhood  between 
eight  o'clock  the  previous  evening  and  four 
o'clock  that  morning.  He  remembered  seeing 
a  car,  similar  to  the  one  standing  outside,  pass 
about  9.15  P.M.  It  contained  two  people,  he  be- 
lieved, but  could  not  be  sure,  as  the  screens 
were  raised  owing  to  the  rain.  He  did  not  see 
the  car  again;  some  drunken  sailors  required 
attention  during  the  small  hours. 

The  local  police-captain  and  several  men  in 
plain  clothes  were  asked  to  assemble  quietly  on 
Smith's  Pier.  A  message  was  sent  to  the  river 
police,  and  a  launch  requisitioned  to  patrol  near 
the  Wild  Duck. 

Finally,  Steingall,  who  was  a  born  strategist, 
and  whose  long  experience  of  cross-examining 
counsel  rendered  him  wary  before  he  took  ir- 


300       TEE  BAUTLETT  MYSTERY 

revocable  steps  in  cases  such  as  this,  where  a 
charge  might  fail  on  unforeseen  grounds,  made 
inquiries  from  a  local  ship's  chandler  as  to  the 
Wild  Duck,  her  cargo,  and  her  destination. 

There  was  no  secret  about  her.  She  was 
loading  with  stores  for  Costa  Eica.  The  con- 
signees were  a  syndicate,  and  both  Carshaw 
and  Steingall  recognized  its  name  as  that  of  the 
venture  in  which  Senator  Meiklejohn  was  in- 
terested. 

"Do  you  happen  to  know  if  there  is  any  one 
on  board  looking  after  the  interests  of  the  syn- 
dicate f ' '  asked  the  detective. 

"Yes.  A  big  fellow  has  been  down  here  once 
or  twice.  He's  going  out  as  the  manager,  I 
guess.  His  name  was — let  me  see  now — " 

"Voles?"  suggested  Steingall. 

"No,  that  wasn't  it.  Oh,  I've  got  it — Vane, 
it  was." 

Carshaw,  dreadfully  impatient,  failed  to  un- 
derstand all  this  preliminary  survey;  but  the 
detective  had  no  warrant,  and  ship's  captains 
become  crusty  if  their  vessels  are  boarded  in 
a  peremptory  manner  without  justification. 
Moreover,  Steingall  quite  emphatically  ordered 
Carshaw  to  remain  on  the  wharf  while  he  and 
others  went  on  board. 

"You  want  to  strangle  Voles,  if  possible," 
he  said.  "From  what  I've  heard  of  him  he 
would  meet  the  attempt  squarely,  and  you  two 


THE  BITER  BIT  301 

might  do  each  other  serious  injury.  I  simply 
refuse  to  permit  any  such  thing.  You  have  a 
much  more  pleasant  task  awaiting  you  when 
you  meet  the  young  lady.  No  one  will  say  a 
word  if  you  hug  her  as  hard  as  you  like." 

Carshaw,  agreeing  to  aught  hut  delay,  prom- 
ised ruefully  not  to  interfere.  When  the  river 
police  were  at  hand  a  nod  brought  several 
powerfully  built  officers  closing  in  on  the  main 
gangway  of  the  Wild  Duck.  The  police-cap- 
tain, in  uniform,  accompanied  Steingall  on 
board. 

A  deck  hand  hailed  them  and  asked  their 
business. 

"I  want  to  see  the  captain,"  said  the  detec- 
tive. 

"There  he  is,  boss,  lookin'  at  you  from  the 
chart-house  now." 

They  glanced  up  toward  a  red-faced,  hector- 
ing sort  of  person  who  regarded  them  with 
evident  disfavor.  Some  ships,  loading  for  Cen- 
tral American  ports  at  out-of-the-way  wharves, 
do  not  want  uniformed  police  on  their  decks. 

The  two  climbed  an  iron  ladder.  Men  at 
work  in  the  forehold  ceased  operations  and 
looked  up  at  them.  Their  progress  was  fol- 
lowed by  many  interested  eyes  from  the  wharf. 
The  captain  glared  angrily.  He,  too,  had  noted 
the  presence  of  the  stalwart  contingent  near  the 
gangway,  nor  had  he  missed  the  police  boat. 


"What  the — "  he  commenced;  but  the  de- 
tective's stern  question  stopped  an  outburst. 

"Have  you  a  man  named  Voles  or  Vane  on 
board?" 

"Mr.  Vane — yes." 

"Did  he  bring  a  young  woman  to  this  ship 
late  last  night?" 

"I  don't  see—  " 

"Let  me  explain,  captain.  I'm  from  the  de- 
tective bureau.  The  man  I  am  inquiring  for 
is  wanted  on  several  charges." 

The  steady  official  tone  caused  the  skipper 
to  think.  Here  was  no  cringing  foreigner  or 
laborer  to  be  brow-beaten  at  pleasure. 

"Well,  I'm — "  he  growled.  "Here,  you," 
roaring  at  a  man  beneath,  "go  aft  and  tell  Mr. 
Vane  he's  wanted  on  the  bridge." 

The  messenger  vanished. 

"I  assume  there  is  a  young  lady  on  board?" 
went  on  Steingall. 

"I'm  told  so.    I  haven't  seen  her." 

"Surely  you  know  every  one  who  has  a  right 
to  be  on  the  ship  ? ' ' 

"Guess  that's  so,  mister,  an'  who  has  more 
right  than  the  daughter  of  the  man  who  puts 
up  the  dough  for  the  trip?  Strikes  me  you're 
makin'  a  hash  of  things.  But  here's  Mr.  Vane. 
He'll  soon  put  you  where  you  belong." 

Advancing  from  the  after  state-rooms  came 
Voles.  He  was  looking  at  the  bridge,  but  the 


THE  BITER  BIT  303 

police-captain  was  hidden  momentarily  by  the 
chart-room.  He  gazed  at  Steingall  with  bold 
curiosity.  He  had  a  foot  on  the  companion 
ladder  when  he  heard  a  sudden  commotion  on 
the  wharf.  Turning,  he  saw  Fowle,  livid  with 
terror,  writhing  in  Carshaw's  grasp. 

Then  Voles  stood  still.  The  shades  of  night 
were  drawing  in,  but  he  had  seen  enough  to 
give  him  pause.  Perhaps,  too,  other  less  pal- 
pable shadows  darkened  his  soul  at  that 
moment. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE    SETTLEMENT 

THE  chief  disliked  melodrama  in  official  af- 
fairs. Any  man,  even  a  crook,  ought  to  know 
when  he  is  beaten,  and  take  his  punishment 
with  a  stiff  upper  lip.  But  Voles  's  face  was 
white,  and  in  one  of  his  temperament,  that  was 
as  ominous  a  sign  as  the  bloodshot  eyes  of  a 
wild  boar.  Steingall  had  hoped  that  Voles 
would  walk  quietly  into  the  chart-room,  and, 
seeing  the  folly  of  resistance,  yield  to  the  law 
without  a  struggle.  Perhaps,  under  other 
conditions,  he  might  have  done  so.  It  was  the 
coming  of  Fowle  that  had  complicated  matters. 

The  strategic  position  was  simple  enough. 
Voles  had  the  whole  of  the  after-deck  to  him- 
self. In  the  river,  unknown  to  him,  was  the 
police  launch.  On  the  wharf,  plain  in  view, 
were  several  policemen,  whose  clothes  in  no- 
wise concealed  their  character.  On  the  bridge, 
visible  now,  was  the  uniformed  police-captain. 
Above  all,  there  was  Fowle,  wriggling  in  Car- 
shaw's  grasp,  and  pointing  frantically  at  him, 


804 


TEE  SETTLEMENT  305 

"Come  right  along,  Mr.  Vane,"  said  Stein- 
gall  encouragingly;  "we'd  like  a  word  with 
you." 

The  planets  must  have  been  hostile  to  the 
Meiklejohn  family  in  that  hour.  Brother  Wil- 
liam was  being  badly  handled  by  Mrs.  Carshaw 
in  Atlantic  City,  and  Brother  Ralph  was  receiv- 
ing a  polite  request  to  come  upstairs  and  be 
cuffed. 

But  Ralph  Vane  Meiklejohn  faced  the  odds 
creditably.  People  said  afterward  it  was  a  pity 
he  was  such  a  fire-eater.  Matters  might  have 
been  arranged  much  more  smoothly.  As  it  was, 
he  looked  back,  perhaps,  through  a  long  vista 
of  misspent  years,  and  the  glance  was  not  en- 
couraging. Of  late,  his  mind  had  dwelt  with 
somewhat  unpleasant  frequency  on  the  finding 
of  a  dead  body  in  the  quarry  near  his  Vermont 
home. 

His  first  great  crime  had  found  him  out  when 
he  was  beginning  to  forget  it.  He  had  walked 
that  moment  from  the  presence  of  a  girl  whose 
sorrowful,  frightened  face  reminded  him  of 
another  long-buried  victim  of  that  quarry 
tragedy.  He  knew,  too,  that  this  girl  had  been 
defrauded  by  him  and  his  brother  of  a  vast  sum 
of  money,  and  a  guilty  conscience  made  the 
prospect  blacker  than  it  really  was.  And  then, 
he  was  a  man  of  fierce  impulses,  of  ungovern- 
able rage,  a  very  tiger  when  his  baleful  pas- 


306       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

sions  were  stirred.  A  wave  of  madness  swept 
through  him  now.  He  saw  the  bright  prospect 
of  an  easily-earned  fortune  ruthlessly  replaced 
by  a  more  palpable  vision  of  prison  walls  and 
silent,  whitewashed  corridors.  Perhaps  the 
chair  of  death  itself  loomed  through  the  red 
mist  before  his  eyes. 

Yet  he  retained  his  senses  sufficiently  to  note 
the  police-captain's  slight  signal  to  his  men  to 
come  on  board,  and  again  he  heard  Steingall's 
voice : 

" Don't  make  any  trouble,  Voles.  It'll  be 
all  the  worse  for  you  in  the  end." 

The  detective's  warning  was  not  given  with- 
out good  cause.  He  knew  the  faces  of  men,  and 
in  the  blazing  eyes  of  this  man  he  read  a  mani- 
acal fury. 

Voles  glanced  toward  the  river.  It  was 
nearly  night.  He  could  swim  like  an  otter.  In 
the  sure  confusion  he  might —  Then,  for  the 
first  time,  he  noticed  the  police  launch.  His 
right  hand  dropped  to  his  hip. 

"Ah,  don't  be  a  fool,  Voles!"  came  the  cry 
from  the  bridge.  "  You  're  only  making  mat- 
ters worse." 

A  bitter  smile  creased  the  lips  of  the  man 
who  felt  the  world  slipping  away  beneath  him. 
His  hand  was  thrust  forward,  not  toward  the 
occupants  of  the  bridge,  but  toward  the  wharf. 


THE  SETTLEMENT  307 

Fowle  saw  him  and  yelled.  A  report  and  the 
yell  merged  into  a  scream  of  agony.  Voles 
was  sure  that  Fowle  had  betrayed  him,  and 
took  vengeance.  There  was  a  deadly  certainty 
in  his  aim. 

Steingall,  utterly  fearless  when  action  was 
called  for,  swung  himself  down  by  the  railings. 
He  was  too  late.  A  second  report,  and  Voles 
crumpled  up. 

His  bold  spirit  had  not  yielded  nor  his  hand 
failed  him  in  the  last  moment  of  his  need.  A 
bullet -was  lodged  in  his  brain.  He  was  dead 
ere  the  huge  body  thudded  on  the  deck. 

When  Carshaw  found  Winifred  in  a  cabin 
— to  open  the  door  they  had  to  obtain  the  key 
from  Voles 's  pocket — the  girl  was  sobbing  piti- 
fully. She  heard  the  revolver  shots,  and  knew 
not  what  they  betokened.  She  was  so  utterly 
shaken  by  these  last  dreadful  hours  that  she 
could  only  cling  to  her  lover  and  cry  in  a 
frightened  way  that  went  to  his  heart: 

"Oh,  take  me  away,  Rex!  It  was  all  my 
fault.  Why  did  I  not  trust  you?  Please,  take 
me  away!" 

He  fondled  her  hair  and  endeavored  to  kiss 
the  tears  from  her  eyes. 

"Don't  cry,  little  one!"  he  whispered.  "All 
your  troubles  have  ended  now." 

It  was  a  simple  formula,  but  effective.   When 


308        THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

repeated  often  enough,  with  sufficiently  con- 
vincing caresses,  she  became  calmer.  When  he 
brought  her  on  deck  all  signs  of  the  terrible 
scene  enacted  there  had  been  removed.  She 
asked  what  had  caused  the  firing,  and  he  told 
her  that  Voles  was  arrested.  It  was  sufficient. 
So  sensitive  was  she  that  the  mere  sound  of 
the  dead  bully's  name  made  her  tremble. 

"I  remember  now,"  she  whispered.  "I  was 
sure  he  had  killed  you.  I  knew  you  would  fol- 
low me,  Rex.  When  I  saw  you  I  forgot  all 
else  in  the  joy  of  it.  Are  you  sure  you  are 
not  injured!" 

At  another  time  he  would  have  laughed,  but 
her  worn  condition  demanded  the  utmost  for- 
bearance. 

"No,  dearest,"  he  assured  her.  "He  did  not 
even  try  to  hurt  me.  Now  let  me  take  you  to 
my  mother." 

The  captain,  thoroughly  scared  by  the  events 
he  had  witnessed,  came  forward  with  profuse 
apologies  and  offers  of  the  ship's  hospitality. 
Carshaw  felt  that  the  man  was  not  to  blame, 
but  the  Wild  Duck  held  no  attractions  for  him. 
He  hurried  Winifred  ashore. 

Steingall  came  with  them.  The  district  police 
would  make  the  official  inquiries  as  a  prelimin- 
ary to  the  inquest  which  would  be  held  next  day. 
Carshaw  must  attend,  but  Winifred  would  prob- 
ably be  excused  by  the  authorities.  He  con- 


THE  SETTLEMENT  309 

veyed  this  information  in  scraps  of  innuendo. 
Winifred  did  not  know  of  Voles 's  death  or  the 
shooting  of  Fowle  till  many  days  had  passed. 

Fowle  did  not  die.  He  recovered,  after  an 
operation  and  some  months  in  a  hospital.  Then 
Carshaw  befriended  him,  obtained  a  situation 
for  him,  and  gave  him  money  to  start  life  in 
an  honest  way  once  more. 

There  was  another  scene  when  Mrs.  Carshaw 
brought  Meiklejohn  to  her  apartment  and 
found  Rex  and  Winifred  awaiting  them.  Wini- 
fred, of  course,  had  never  seen  the  Senator, 
and  there  was  nothing  terrifying  to  her  in  the 
sight  of  a  haggard,  weary-looking,  elderly 
gentleman.  She  was  far  more  fluttered  by 
meeting  Eex's  mother,  who  figured  in  her 
mind  as  a  domineering,  cruel,  old  lady,  ele- 
gantly merciless,  and  gifted  with  a  certain  skill 
in  torture  by  words. 

Mrs.  Carshaw  began  to  dispel  that  impres- 
sion promptly. 

"My  poor  child  I"  she  cried,  with  a  break  in 
her  voice,  "what  you  have  undergone!  Can 
you  ever  forgive  me?" 

Carshaw,  ignoring  Meiklejohn,  whispered  to 
his  mother  that  Winifred  should  be  sent  to  bed. 
She  was  utterly  worn  out.  One  of  the  maids 
should  sleep  in  her  room  in  case  she  awoke 
in  fright  during  the  night. 

When  left  alone  with  Meiklejohjo.  he  intended 


310       THE  BARTLETT  MYSTERY 

to  scarify  the  man's  soul.  But  lie  was  dis- 
armed at  the  outset.  The  Senator's  spirit  was 
broken.  He  admitted  everything;  said  nought 
in  palliation.  He  could  have  taken  no  better 
line.  When  Mrs.  Carshaw  hastened  back,  fear- 
ing lest  her  plans  might  be  upset,  she  found 
her  son  giving  Winifred's  chief  persecutor  a 
stiff  dose  of  brandy. 

The  tragedy  of  Smith's  Pier  was  allowed  to 
sink  into  the  obscurity  of  an  ordinary  occur- 
rence. Fowle's  unhappily-timed  appearance 
was  explained  by  Rachel  Craik  when  her  frenzy 
at  the  news  of  Voles 's  death  had  subsided. 

A  chuckling  remark  by  Mick  the  Wolf  that 
"  There  'd  been  a  darned  sight  too  much  fuss 
about  that  slip  of  a  girl,  an'  he  had  fixed  it," 
alarmed  her. 

She  sent  Fowle  at  top  speed  to  Smith's  Pier 
to  warn  Voles.  He  arrived  in  time  to  be  shot 
for  his  pains. 

Carshaw  and  Winifred  were  married  quietly. 
Their  honeymoon  consisted  of  the  trip  to  Mas- 
sachusetts when  he  began  work  in  the  cotton 
mill.  Meiklejohn  fulfilled  his  promise.  When 
the  Costa  Eica  cotton  concession  reached  its 
zenith  he  sold  out,  resigned  his  seat  in  the  Sen- 
ate and  transferred  to  Winifred  railway  cash 
and  gilt-edged  bonds  to  the  total  value  of  a 
half  a  million  dollars.  So  the  young  bride  en- 
riched her  husband,  but  Carshaw;  refused  to 


THE  SETTLEMENT  311 

desert  his  business.  He  will  die  a  millionaire, 
but  lie  hopes  to  live  like  one  for  a  long  time. 

Fetch  and  Jim  fought  over  Polly.  There 
was  talk  about  it  in  East  Orange,  and  Polly 
threw  both  over ;  the  latest  gossip  is  that  she  is 
going  to  marry  a  police-inspector. 

Mrs.  Carshaw,  Sr.,  still  visits  her  "dear 
friend,"  Helen  Tower.  Both  of  them  speak 
highly  of  Meiklejohn,  who  lives  in  strict  seclu- 
sion. He  is  very  wealthy;  since  he  ceased  to 
strive  for  gold  it  has  poured  in  on  him. 

Winifred  secured  an  allowance  for  Rachel 
Craik  sufficient  to  live  on,  and  Mick  the  Wolf, 
whose  arm  was  never  really  sound  again,  was 
given  a  job  on  the  Long  Island  estate  as  a 
watcher. 

Quite  recently,  when  the  young  couple  came 
in  to  New  York  for  a  week-end's  shopping — • 
rendered  necessary  by  the  establishment  of  day 
and  night  nurseries — they  entertained  Stein- 
gall  and  Clancy  at  dinner  in  the  Biltmore. 
Naturally,  at  one  stage  of  a  pleasant  meal,  the 
talk  turned  on  those  eventful  months,  October 
and  November,  1913.  As  usual,  Clancy  waxed 
sarcastic  at  his  chief's  expense. 

4 'He's  as  vain  as  a  star  actor  in  the  movies," 
he  cackled.  "Hogs  all  the  camera  stuff. 
Wouldn't  give  me  even  a  flash  when  the  big 
scene  was  put  on." 

Steingall  pointed  a  fat  cigar  at  him. 


312       THE  BAETLETT  MYSTERY 

"Do  you  know  what  happened  to  a  frog  when" 
he  tried  to  emulate  a  bull?"  he  said. 

"I  know  what  happened  to  a  bull  one  night  in 
East  Orange,"  came  the  ready  retort. 

"The  solitary  slip  in  an  otherwise  unblem- 
ished career,"  sighed  the  chief.  "Make  the 
most  of  it,  little  man.  If  I  allowed  myself  to 
dwell  on  your  many  blunders  I'd  lie  down  and 
die." 

Winifred  never  really  understood  these  two. 
She  thought  their  bickering  was  genuine. 

"Why,"  she  cried,  "you  are  wonderful,  both 
of  you !  From  the  very  beginning  you  peered 
into  the  souls  of  those  evil  men.  You,  Mr. 
Clancy,  seemed  to  sense  a  great  mystery  the 
moment  you  heard  Rachel  Craik  speak  to  the 
Senator  outside  the  club  that  night.  As  for  you, 
Mr.  Steingall,  do  you  know  what  the  lawyers 
told  Rex  and  me  soon  after  our  marriage  f ' ' 

"No,  ma'am,"  said  Steingall. 

"They  said  that  if  you  hadn't  sent  Eex's 
mother  to  Atlantic  City  we  might  never  have 
recovered  a  cent  of  the  stolen  money.  Sheer 
bluff,  they  called  it.  We  would  have  had  the 
greatest  difficulty  in  establishing  a  legal 
case." 

Steingall  weighed  the  point  for  a  moment. 

"Sometimes  I'm  inclined  to  think  that  the 
police  know  more  about  human  nature  than  any 
other  set  of  men,"  he  said,  at  last,  evidently 


THE  SETTLEMENT  313 

choosing  his  words  with  care.  "  Perhaps  I 
might  except  doctors.  They,  too,  see  us  as  we 
are.  But  the  dry  legal  mind  does  not  allow 
sufficiently  for  what  is  called  in  every-day 
speech  a  guilty  conscience.  In  this  case  these 
people  knew  they  had  done  you  and  your  father 
and  mother  a  great  wrong,  and  that  knowledge 
was  never  absent  from  their  thoughts.  It 
colored  every  word  they  uttered,  governed 
every  action.  That's  a  heavy  handicap,  ma'am. 
It's  the  deciding  factor  in  the  never-ending 
struggle  between  the  police  and  the  criminal 
classes.  The  most  callous  crook  walking  Broad- 
way in  freedom  to-night — a  man  who  would 
scoff  at  the  notion  that  he  is  bothered  by  any 
conscience  at  all — never  passes  a  policeman 
without  an  instinotrfO  sense  of  danger.  And 
that  is  what  beats  him  in  the  long  run.  Crime 
may  be  a  form  of  lunacy — indeed,  I  look  on  it 
in  that  light  myself — but,  luckily  for  mankind, 
crime  cannot  stifle  conscience." 

The  chief's  tone  had  become  serious;  he  ap- 
peared to  awake  to  its  gravity  when  he  found 
the  young  wife's  eyes  fixed  on  his  with  a  certain 
awe.  He  broke  off  the  lecture  suddenly. 

"Why,"  he  cried,  smiling  broadly,  and  jerk- 
ing the  cigar  toward  Clancy,  "why,  ma'am,  if 
we  cops  hadn't  some  sort  of  a  pull,  what  chance 
would  a  shrimp  like  him  have  against  any  one 
of  real  intelligence?" 


314       THE  BAETLETT  MYSTERY 

"That's  what  he  regards  as  handing  me  a 
lemon  for  my  Orange,"  grinned  Clancy. 

Winifred  laughed.  The  curtain  can  drop  on 
the  last  act  of  her  adventures  to  the  mirthful 
music  of  her  happiness. 


THE  END 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


JE  SOUTHERN  REG 


'••"in  in  i    II  ||  ||    |   |  I    I 

A     000129176 


